


living legacy

by ashxv



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game), Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anakin Rivalmance, Angst, Best Friends, Clones and Reader are Totally BFFs/Partners in Crime, Death, Developing Friendships, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Light Angst, Minor Violence, Misadventures Abound, Multi, POV Female Character, POV Second Person, Plot, Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive, Self-Insert, Slow Build, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-17 18:14:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 48,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29104641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashxv/pseuds/ashxv
Summary: you are a separatist agent looking to defect to the republic.getting people to trust you is one thing,getting them to believe that you are who you claim to be is another./ a reader centric, plot-focused fic with eventual romancefem!reader x variousendgame : fem!reader x ?
Relationships: Anakin Skywalker/Reader, CT-21-0408 | CT-1409 | Echo/Reader, CT-27-5555 | ARC-5555 | Fives/Reader, CT-6116 | Kix/Reader, CT-7567 | Rex/Reader, Obi-Wan Kenobi/Reader
Comments: 82
Kudos: 136





	1. The Distress Signal

_"AFTER THEM!"_

Feet scrambling to find their footing, legs akimbo, you squirreled as fast as you could out the command bridge and toward... well, anywhere that wasn't there. It was difficult enough dodging a hail of blaster bullets whizzing out the door and past you. Even though you were great at avoiding imminent death, you were in no physical or mental position to be put in a life threatening situation, such as now.

Your body felt weak and spent. Even as you shifted your weight to accompany your injuries, you felt your head swirl and your body clumsily anchoring itself toward the ground when it wasn’t supposed to. Even if you wanted to give up, you couldn’t - that would mean spending another day in this cursed brig.

A scarlet light and deafening alarm pulsed through the halls of the ship, indicative of the siren sounded to alert the rest of your ship to your treachery. It’s quite literally too late to turn back now. 

“Shit, where are they?” you swore under your breath, or lack thereof, whilst running as fast as your legs could take you toward any part of the ship that wasn’t barricaded by droids.

Finally, a moment’s respite with a clear hall. You ducked into the vacant area, pressing your back against the wall as soon as you turned the corner. _Deep breaths_. In a desperate attempt to calm your nerves and dispel the nagging feeling of pain creeping up your torso, you closed your eyes and steadied your breathing.

_Focus. If you just focus, you’ll be able to hear them -_

_CLINK CLANK CLINK CLANK_

You quickly realised their rapid approach. Your gut began to twist, and your heartbeat quickened. Could these people really help you, after all this time? You swallowed your fear, resolve strengthening as you briefly shut your eyes, allowing yourself to centre your emotions one last time before hastily jumping into their path.

_Remember, stay calm, and no one is going to get hurt._

Arms raised, you exclaimed, “Stop!”

The distinct humming of a lightsaber being unsheathed sliced through the air, thick with tension. Multiple clones behind the Jedi had their blasters raised at you, more than ready to fire at a lone twitch from any part of your body. You tried to summon as much sincerity as you possibly could, before speaking again.

“Thank the Maker you got here fast enough. Please don’t shoot - I’m the person who sent for the distress signal about the weapons shipment - my name is _________.”

The Jedi with mid-length hair narrowed his gaze at you, eying you from head-to-toe, examining the truth to your words with intense scrutiny.

“You’re dressed in Seperatist garments,” he stated simply.

You hesitated explaining, but decided to be quick and honest about it. You weren’t going to get out of here in one piece otherwise. 

“I’m a Seperatist agent. I’m… looking to defect,” you said. “I know this just means that you won’t be able to trust me, but look for yourself in the lower levels. You’ll see that I’m not lying. I risked my life to get this intel to you - I swear, I’m no Seperatist, not anymore.”

You pursed your lips in anticipation, acutely aware of the dozens of eyes on you like a suspect on trial. The clones watched you closely while the Jedi raised his forearm closer to his face, as the comms on them began to transmit the voice of a younger woman.

“We’ve secured the shipment, but Kanta Joll is headed to the escape pods with a remote detonator! You have to intercept him _now_!” 

You scowled at the mention of the Trandoshan smuggler. You owed most, if not all, of the fresh burn marks painted across your body to him.

“We’ll cut him off,” the Jedi replied promptly.

Without skipping a beat, you spoke, “I can get you and your unit there fast. Do you trust me?”

You visibly noticed the annoyance spread on the Jedi’s face, and he hissed, “Not as far as I can throw you, but fine. If this is a trap, then-”

“I have nothing to gain, I know,” you noted before motioning for them to follow you.

You felt a lump rise in your throat - you hadn’t eaten or drank in, maker knows how long, and to put this much stress on your body, well, it was catching up to you - but you were in the home stretch, and you couldn’t stop now. Just a few paces away from you and the group of Republic soldiers was a reinforced grate hidden away by an unsuspecting wall. Your reached out, fingers gripping the edges of the wall panelling before yanking it off with whatever strength you had left. If the Jedi and his clones didn’t have their weapons trained on you, it was their eyes that did the glaring. The air of mistrust still lingered heavily, coiling around the back of their minds while they watched you undo the mechanical lock on the entryway.

“It’s a long slide down, but it drops you right in front of the pods,” you claimed as the small door in front of you slid unlocked.

A sly smirk played on his lips as his arms motioned you forward.

“Ladies first.”

You rolled your eyes at the Jedi. He still didn’t trust you, but you expected nothing more, nothing less. You took the forceful initiative of going first, hinging your body by hanging onto the edge of the tube before lifting your legs into them. Your grip eased, and you found yourself whirling down the narrow chute, with the Jedi and his clone unit following suit.

It did not take long before you started to see the end to the vertical tunnel. The constant red of the alarms began to glow brighter the closer you got, and soon enough, you shot out of the other end, unceremoniously landing onto the ground…

… not without knocking over Kanta Joll. 

The both of you, a mess of tangled limbs, tumbled over to the walls of the room that contained three escape pods. The burns on your body were fuming with pain as momentum dragged your body across the ground, paying no mercy to your injuries.

You felt Joll’s scaly exterior and razor sharp nails dig into your flesh as he tore you away from himself, flinging you to the side while he hurriedly attempted to stand. He snapped, with sharp ‘S’s in his speech, “Get out of my way, _sewer rat!_ ”

Kanta Joll reached for the escape pods, but your fingers wrapped around his ankle, sending him plummeting clumsily down to the ground yet again. Your thirst for revenge outweighed the one you had for water - whatever his fate, be it life behind bars or a painful death - you were going to die trying to accomplish either one.

_No, I need to calm down._

The voice in the back of your mind cleared the cloud of spite hovering above your better judgement. Occupied with your thoughts, you noticed too late that the smuggler had taken it upon himself to pry a loose bar from a nearby structure of the ship. Joll gripped the bar with one hand, tapping the end of it with a satisfying smack into his other palm, as if signalling his next moves. 

A poisonous, disgusting grin plastered across Joll’s face. He murmured, “I’m going to _enjoy_ beating your pretty little face in.”

A loud clank echoed throughout the room as you instinctively rolled to the side, but that one dodge was only just the beginning. Joll swung the metallic bar down over, and over, and over again, aiming for your skull as you only just barely managed to miss each strike by a microhair. To boot, you were too weak to stand.

The last swing caught you off guard, and just as you were about to will yourself to get up, Joll grabbed you by the throat and lifted you into the air, nails digging into your skin, threatening to pierce into an artery you _know_ would end you there and then.

“Goodbye, _rat_. It was a pleasure watching you squirm - no matter how many times I prodded you with that electrostaff, you never seemed to realise that your silence is useless, since your friends are as good as dead.”

Even though his choke on you was getting tighter, what you originally mistook for fear, was pure anger, bubbling over, beginning to take control of your senses. You wanted to put a hole in his head, even if you had to punch it open yourself. No longer yourself, you felt a fog consume your mind with a lust for blood, of white-hot hatred, of nothing but.

_Calm down. They’re fine. They’re alive - you just have to survive long enough to find them._

Interrupted by the godsend sound of multiple people landing onto the metallic flooring beneath you, you shut your eyes, reminding yourself that the only way to get through all this is to remember why you’d done everything up to this point. You breathed a sigh of relief, not because you feared death, but because you feared what you might have done to the Trandoshan, had the Jedi arrived a moment too late.

He aimed his azure lightsaber at the smuggler’s back, and his clone unit followed suit with their blasters. 

“It’s over, Joll. Drop her _and_ the detonator,” he commanded.

The door behind you whirred open. A pair of slender arms caught your frail stature just as Kanta Joll pried his own fingers off your neck, releasing you and raising his arms in the air.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you,” she assured.

 _Finally_ , you thought. You struggled to stay awake, but the overwhelming exhaustion took you down into deep slumber. You went limp in her arms, only regretting that you did not have the chance to thank her before you went unconscious.

The clones brushed past their generals, taking Joll into custody. One of them whipped out a pair of stun cuffs, sealing them onto his wrists.

“Load him onto the ship, Rex,” the Jedi ordered.

The Captain nodded affirmatively, before replying, “Understood, General. And the Seperatist agent?”

The Togruta padawan and her master shared a look of contemplation, before the older Jedi answered.

“She comes too.”


	2. Rude Awakening

The weighted feeling in your head oscillated in the recesses of your mind; a dull sense of nausea looming in the pit of your stomach as you came to. Your head swayed in accordance to your mind’s bearings, which there was not much of. Soon, the uncertain shapes in front of you became clear, but the edges of your vision were still marred with a vague blur. It would have to do for now. You squeezed your eyes shut, and opened them once more. It felt like you’d been asleep for too long a time, judging by the heaviness of your eyelids, and the ability to feel the mere presence of the bags under your eyes without touching them.

You looked down at your body. Your wounds had been treated and bandaged, to your surprise. When you turned your head up, you noticed a layer of blue light suspended over you, encapsulating your figure in what appeared to be a stabiliser pod. You shifted uncomfortably in place; your arms tethered to wiry tubes; conduits for liquids your body had been severely lacking. You’d felt even worse than before, but it was likely because your body was catching up to you, and there was no more adrenaline left for you to bank on keeping the pain at bay.

You cleared your throat, as it had been dry and hoarse from inactivity. Doing so caught the attention of the on-duty attendant in the medical bay.

“Good morning,” greeted the medic as they strode closer to your pod, “how are we doing today?”

You groaned in response, “What’s going on? Where… where am I?”

“You’re on Coruscant. That’s all I’m allowed to say for now.”

The doctor, dressed in all-white with the notable symbol of the Republic sewn onto her outer garments, pulled up a holo-chart of your vitals, scanning for anomalies as you tried to think of more questions to ask.

“I’m sorry… then, who are you? And how did I get here?”

She must have seen the look of utter confusion and genuine disorientation coming from you, because the returned emotion was one of empathy. The doctor then changed their mind, deciding to divulge just a little more.

“My name is Yves Kalonia. I’m a doctor for the Republic Army Headquarters here on Coruscant. You were brought here five days ago by a few Jedi after they responded to a distress signal, presumably yours,” she elaborated matter-of-factly, almost as if she were reading straight out of a book. Her gaze shifted over to you, but you had started losing concentration from being completely out of it.

Re-engaging you, she commented, “You know, you’re lucky to be alive. Your body has been put through a lot, but in spite of everything, it’s healing slowly but remarkably well. Tell me, how did you get most of your injuries?”

She didn’t make eye contact, but you could distinguish the intrigue in her tone of voice. You were hesitant to recall such tormented memories, which will no doubt root themselves in every minute of sleep you’ll have from here on out, but you breathed in deeply, wanting to reciprocate her kind hospitality.

“Just… being shocked repeatedly by an electrostaff, that’s all,” you muttered, looking away scornfully. “And,  _ five  _ days? Have I been out that long?”

Her index finger tapped the side of the floating holo-chart, and the screen dissolved into itself. Dr. Kalonia pocketed the chart in her coat, then proceeded to fold her arms and turn to you with an expectant look on her face.

“An  _ electrostaff _ ? I’ve been an army doctor for a long time, Miss ________, and wounds like those do not stem from just an  _ electrostaff _ -”

Thankfully, you did not have to explain yourself any further. The doors to the medibay slid open, and in strolled two people whom you immediately recognised to be Jedi, one of which was a familiar face. Whether it was a welcome or unwelcome sight, you had yet to determine for yourself.

“Ah, it looks like our guest of honour is alive and well,” quipped the young Jedi, “Nice to see you again, Agent ________. And to you too, Doctor Kalonia.”

“General Skywalker, Kenobi. Is there something you need?” questioned the doctor.

“You were… in the cargo ship with the, uh, clones, correct?” you confirmed, rather unsurely, looking between the two Jedi. The other, seemingly older man, appeared well-kept and sported a beard, and was dressed in rather lightly coloured robes - a stark contrast to the Jedi you were speaking to.

“Good, your memory still serves you well. My apologies for the intrusion, doctor, but we’ll need Agent _______ for just a quick moment,” one of the Generals casually said.

You could tell that he wasn’t asking for the doctor’s permission, and if it wasn’t their brazenness of walking into a private section of the sickbay without so much of an explanation, it would be the fact that the dark-robed Jedi had sauntered over to your pod and deactivated the regulator next to your pod, that aggravated her. The protective light film that once blanketed your body disintegrated, and your stabiliser pod effectively shut down; a whining tone resonating from the machine as it slowly turned off.

“General Skywalker, you  _ can’t _ just walk into my medical bay and discharge patients at your whim! I’ll have you know that she is still under  _ my _ supervision, and that she is not in any condition to -”

You raised a hand, calmly interjecting. “It’s alright, doctor. I’m well enough to stand, I think, but I could use something for the pain.”

The doctor, seething at this point, turned her attention toward the older Jedi. “General Kenobi,  _ you _ are a man of courtesy, so I assume that the two of you are doing this under direct orders. Otherwise, this is unnecessary.”

The Jedi, now known to you as  _ ‘Skywalker’ _ , rolled his eyes and mumbled just loud enough for you to hear, “Man of  _ courtesy _ , she says…”

“I’m afraid so, Doctor. We’ve got an urgent situation on our hands, and if this woman is who she says she is, we’ll need her expertise now. If it’s any consolation, I would have preferred we let her rest, but this cannot wait,” surmised General Kenobi.

With a ponderous sigh, the Doctor reluctantly took to the metal rack in the corner of the room, rummaging for medication that would last you at least up to your trip back.

You brought your knees in to yourself, fingers gingerly lifting the linen blanket off your body. You paused, slightly taken aback by the sight before you. You had gotten so frail from just a lack of any food or water. You knew why you appeared this way, but you couldn’t help but ask yourself: _ how did I get here?  _ You gulped, shoving away the remaining cloth that covered your legs and moved yourself over to the side of the bed.

“Need help?” Skywalker offered.

You shook your head, propping yourself up and readying yourself to hop off the edge. You told him, “I should be fi-”

As if the floor had given way, your knees wobbled and buckled under your weight, causing you to unexpectedly lurch forward. The Jedi easily caught your upper arm and wrapped his other free hand around your shoulders. He smirked and spoke smugly, “You were saying?”

“You try being tortured and starved for weeks, see how  _ you _ handle walking,” you glared at him. 

“Well, an  _ experienced _ Jedi such as myself shouldn’t have any problems with that, and it’s probably unlikely that I’d land myself in such a position in the first place anyway.”

General Kenobi exhaled noisily at the sight of the two of you bickering, wondering if he had to babysit not one, but two fully grown adults. 

“Enough, Anakin. I know you don’t trust her, but  _ try _ not to antagonise the help before we’ve even started.”

The doctor, finally having found some stims for you, slid her hands into a pair of rubber gloves. Dr. Kalonia stood before you, assessing your physical ability - it seemed that she wanted to truly be sure that you were well enough to be walking around. You respected her integrity as a doctor, and appreciated her tenacity when it came to her patients’ well being. 

“Will Agent ________ be seeing combat? Or at least, be in the field with you?” Dr. Kalonia nonchalantly asked as she glazed over the handful of stims she’d deemed best for your current and future state.

“She may have to, but such a decision is left to the Council,” Kenobi said, looking toward Anakin for his opinion.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” Anakin replied without second thought. His grip on your arm and shoulder tightened, even without him realising, “I’d prefer if she were far away as possible from the assignment, but if we  _ really _ don’t have a choice-”

“Ah, what every woman wants to hear,” you interrupted, “General Skywalker, seeing as I’m, for whatever reason, integral to your next operation, I think your bedside manner could use a little work.”

Only then did Anakin realise his inadvertent frustration with the possibility of you, an ex-Separatist agent, coming along with them on their next mission, translating into a vice grip on your body. He loosened his hold, making sure that he could still help you stand without hurting you.

“Oh, ah, sorry about that. Look, it’s not that I think you’re  _ necessarily _ a spy, it’s just…”

“I know. You don’t have to explain. I have to earn your trust,  _ even _ if it means starting from rock bottom,” you stressed, then added, “I’d feel the exact same way in your shoes.”

Without further ado, knowing exactly what you needed for the day ahead of you, the doctor took the needle of a stim encasing and pricked the skin on your forearm. Within seconds, you felt well enough to stand without assistance. You pushed lightly off Anakin, shooting him a genuine smile as thanks.

“Agent _______, please return to the medical bay when you’re finished with the Jedi Council’s matters, as you still require treatment,” Dr. Kalonia insisted.

“Thanks, will do, Doc,” you thanked. The three of you walked over to the medbay exit, ready to head to the Council Chambers, but not without hearing one last remark from the doctor herself:

“And please, do not come back with  _ more _ injuries!”


	3. Plotting Course

“The floor is open to suggestions, but as I see it, she’ll have to follow you on-board just to be sure you can circumnavigate any and all security.”

“Master Windu, I don’t see why we can’t just find and make someone on the ship open up the cargo hold for us. Or just do it the way we always do.”

“Oh, how’s that, Anakin? By poking your lightsaber at everything?”

“It’s a better plan than _this_.”

“It’s not that simple, Master — I couldn’t open it myself when I got to it. I had to wait for a crew member to skulk by and open it up before I got through.”

“The way I see it, as long as we keep her safe and out of Separatist hands again, there shouldn’t be a problem here. She’s the key in and out quickly, and with minimal casualties.”

“And what if it’s a trap? Her position here just makes it easier to stab us in the back.”

“If I may speak, with all due respect, General Kenobi, how much can we trust a Sep agent? We only just found her and know nothing about her.”

“My point exactly, Rex.”

“Enough — we’re talking circles around ourselves. Let’s see what she _actually_ thinks.”

All eyes fell on you. Even though you’d just got out of the medical bay just a few minutes ago, you had to amass your wavering focus into this conversation. Eyes closed, as if meditative, you hummed, or rather, sighed wearily. It seemed as if the group were divided on their trust in you. The truth was, you hadn’t told them everything that there was to your timely appearance, and you’d rather keep it that way. Your friends were still out there — somewhere — and you were not ready to risk their safety by letting anyone know your true intentions. 

The three of you — General Skywalker, General Kenobi and yourself — had convened with the rest of the available Jedi in the War Room, with whom you assumed to be the Admiral on duty. The clone captain was there too. When you’d first entered, you took note of the various consoles that lined the walls of the room, each manned by crew members furiously tapping away at their holoterminals. Had you not remembered that you were in the company of others, you would have gaped in awe at the sheer amount of new tech around you. The Republic had done well for itself, and were reinvesting their earnings into improving their command, and your heart swelled with pride, even though you’d just joined.

The crew received intel of a similar ship moving nigh toward the Mid Rim, and had spent months before loading something rather large onto it. Perhaps making some solid statements about the upcoming assignment would’ve eased their worries.

You turned to the young Togruta and asked, “May I know your name, Padawan?”

Taken aback by your unexpected interest in her, she replied pensively, “Me? I’m… Ahsoka. Ahsoka Tano.”

“Would you be so kind as to tell us why you were unable to get into the cargo hold, Ahsoka?” you inquired knowingly. With your arms crossed, you smiled gently at the Padawan, as if letting her know that it was alright to confess to the event.

Her slender fingers reached for her chin; features mired with deep contemplation. “When I got to the blast doors, they looked… different from the ones we’d seen before. They were covered in all these ancient markings, and there didn’t look to be any sort of lock or mechanism that could open it.”

The rest of the people at the War Terminal proceeded to listen intently to Padawan Ahsoka’s retelling of events.

“The Geonosian smuggler we captured onboard was the one that accessed the cargo hold, while you were chasing down Joll. The strange part is, he didn’t have to do anything to unlock it — at least, nothing I could see with my own eyes.”

“That’s because the door consists of some very, _very_ old tech that only responds to a forgotten dialect,” you said.

“’ _Old tech’_?” the Jedi you now knew as Master Windu asked. “What do you mean?”

“It was a contingency plan that I… _unwillingly_ had a hand in,” you continued, “Behind these doors are assets that could greatly boost Separatist efforts. I don’t know what lies behind them, except that they are important enough to turn the tides of any battle. The Separatists made sure to use my extensive knowledge in history to make sure no one has easy access to these shipments except me, and a select few, like Kanta Joll, and Bolek, the Geonosian you mentioned.”

“So they’re using time-worn technology and knowledge as padded security?” General Kenobi confirmed, before adding, “Fascinating.”

You griped, fists balled.

“Yes, but I absolutely loathe the fact that the history of The Old Republic is being used to serve these Dark-side, _K’lor slugged,_ incorrigible —”

The team of Jedi, the Clone Captain and the Admiral threw questioning glances your way. _Deep breaths_.

“— _anyway_. You’ll need help with those doors, enter yours truly.”

“Not so fast, Agent,” Anakin raised his palm in protest, “Can’t you just teach us the phrase used to unlock the door?”

“It doesn’t work that way. The door contains knowledge and power infused by ancient relics of the past; it doesn’t activate based on just a set of words. It’s a _conversation_ you have, it’s organic and ever-changing. How can I put this plainly…”

“The door… _talks_?” Captain Rex spoke with a bewildered look on his face.

“If you want to dumb it down, then yes. It _talks_. And you’ll have to be able to speak to it without faltering. Unless you’d rather try your luck with Joll or Bolek,” you smugly concluded. “Or, you could take this opportunity to read up on Voss scriptures.”

A Jedi master with a much smaller frame than the rest ambled forward; each step taken by him was followed by a resounding tap of the end of their wooden staff against the plated floors. A breath hitched in your throat as you were caught off-guard by their powerful presence. Not much was known of this Master Jedi’s particular species, but you knew they were force-inclined — and based on your personal experiences, you’d only ever met with one other of their kind...

“Time, we do not have,” the green skinned Jedi spoke, with the sands of time and wisdom flowing through his words. “Act now, we must, if we are to secure the shipment before it reaches the Separatist base on Aargonar.”

“Are you sure you’re up to the task, Agent?” Master Windu implored, straightforward in his line of questioning. “The injuries you sustained—”

“—were apparently not grave enough for me to be put in a tank, so there’s no need for worry. Please, set course for the Perkell Sector in the Mid Rim along this… _Perlemian Trade Route_ ,” you instructed, hand raised and tracing a path from Coruscant to the edge of the holomap, landing at the red blip.

You withdrew your outstretched arm, thoughtfully resting your chin in your palm as you thought to yourself, in relation to the trade route, _“This is new to me…”_

The scoff of one appalled Admiral took you by surprise.

“I’m sorry, I’m afraid introductions are in order. I am _Admiral_ Wulff Yularen,” he emphasised.

Only then did you realize you’d spoken out of turn, out of the chain of command.

“... Of course. It is an honour, Admiral. My apologies, I overstepped.”

General Kenobi and Anakin shared a look, with the latter shrugging to the former.

You continued, “I’m simply eager to, ahem, _begin_ my service. That is, if it is welcomed.”

The disapproving looks from the Admiral and the officers on duty lasted a short while, but the weight of the situation demanded more attention than a petty squabble. Admiral Yularen turned to the rest of the room, resolutely nodding.

“You heard Agent ________. Ready your squad, General Skywalker — we’ll jump to hyperspace with an ETA of five days.”

In time, the meeting concluded, and the door to the War Room slid open. The Jedi began filing out and you followed suit, headed straight back to the medical bay, but all Anakin did was let out a disgruntled mumble and rubbed his temples with his fingers. Captain Rex watched as Ahsoka approached her superior.

“Don’t worry, Master — I’ve got a good feeling about her.”

* * *

“So, you survived your first briefing, did you?” Dr. Kalonia chuckled as she carefully streaked thick bacta gel onto your burns. “I’ll have to get you to say hello to the Admiral for me next time, we’ve just been far too busy to chat lately.”

“You know the Admiral?” you asked, head cocked to the side inquisitively.

“It’s hard not to know someone you’ve worked so long with.”

You lifted the front end of your shirt for the doctor, seeing as she had her hands full. Her other hand balanced a tub of green gel. Getting wounds treated felt like just another day for you, after all, you’d seen many days of combat before — the longer you pondered the last fight you were in, the longer ago it felt. _Gods_ , how many years had it been? You absentmindedly moved your arms in accordance to where the doctor’s own were moving, staring into space as you mulled over the passage of time.

There was no reason to be embarrassed by having to lift your shirt for a doctor - let alone Dr. Kalonia, a friendly face. It was not like you could reach some areas yourself. As soon as you thought to get in a bit more of a comfortable position, the door to your private room whizzed open.

“I’ve been sent to escort Agent _______ to —”

You yelped defensively and quite literally leapt off your bed, haphazardly nudging over Dr. Kalonia’s arm, causing the tub of gel she was holding to land with a comical _splat_. Reactively, you yanked your garbs down across your body, covering what had been exposed. The clone captain standing at the entryway began to sputter. His ears flushed red as he quickly spun away, staring at anything, _maker_ , anything but at you.

“Ah, uh, _oh god,_ I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to see that. I mean, not that, I meant I didn’t want to interrupt —”

“You clearly _did_ mean to, Captain,” Dr. Kalonia deadpanned with an irked look on her face before turning to face him. Almost as if on command, Captain Rex trying to defend himself shot the doctor straight into a tirade of lecturing.

“Does it not occur to you people that privacy is of import around here? Now I’ve just dropped a whole tub of perfectly good bacta. We’re at war here, Captain, I don’t suppose you realize that supplies are scarce and every drop of whatever we’ve been trying to scrape together is valuable? _Do you?”_

“O-Of course,” he stammered. The whole event was embarrassing enough for you, but you couldn’t help but be tickled by Dr. Kalonia putting the fear of god into the experienced veteran.

“I’ll, uh, wait outside for you, Agent __________. I’ll escort you to your quarters when you are ready.”

Captain Rex shot you a quick, apologetic and somehow awkward glance before promptly walking out the door. With a tired sigh _(from years of having to deal with these shenanigans)_ , Dr. Kalonia walked back over to you.

“Are you alright?” the doctor checked.

“Yes, don’t worry,” you smiled. 

“I’ll help you clean up, doctor, and I’ll get a move on. You’ve covered most, if not all, my wounds anyway. Thank you.”


	4. Individuality

Save for the occasional glance, Captain Rex wasn’t putting much effort into attempting to make conversation with you. Whether it was due to what happened at the medical bay, or the fact that you were still a fresh yet questionable entity, you hadn’t a clue — it was likely to be both.

The two of you strode next to each other as he led you to your room in the military base on Coruscant, and since you weren’t speaking, your attention was often pulled to your surroundings, and your thoughts rested with the day’s events, tinged occasionally with musings and old memories.

Ahsoka, Anakin and General Kenobi left for the Jedi Temple after the briefing adjourned, and while you would’ve preferred to be there, it just made more sense for you to stay here in the Republic Military base due to the proximity to Dr. Kalonia’s clinic, which was nestled at the far end of the building, saving you a lengthy commute. That, and they probably did not trust you nearly enough to justify you living on temple grounds. 

Oh, what knowledge the Jedi held; what you would give to sneak into their archives for just an hour. With the Separatists, you weren’t given shore leave, let alone a moment of spare time. You were hoping to be granted some wiggle room for personal activities, but perhaps it was too soon to expect any leeway from the authorities. After all, in their eyes, you were still suspect to espionage and conceivable sabotage.

Sporadically, you’d walk past maintenance rooms, personal quarters, mess halls and common rooms. When you peered in, you only ever saw the same people — clones. It was bizarre to watch so many copies of the same person playing so many roles in the Republic’s military infrastructure. Hell, it was weird watching them talk to one another. You’d been educated on the clones, but you’d never managed to see them up close. You took note of their want to maintain some semblance of individuality, eyeing the bold tattoos branded across their faces, or the various hues their hair was colored in.

Just as you started to compare the capabilities of clones with the troopers that came before them, your ears perked when you heard the Captain clear his throat.

“I’m, uh, sorry for earlier.”

You could tell that Rex was fighting internally on whether he should be looking at you while making this apology, or glaring dead ahead as to not make you any more uncomfortable by the whole ordeal — he chose the latter.

“It’s quite alright, Captain,” you accepted, still gazing around at the interior of the building.

“I would have preferred that we got acquainted through _less_ intimate situations, I suppose this is as good a start as any,” you joked, but only to be received with a lack of response. You stole a quick glance at the corner of your eyes; his shoulders stiff, and posture, overcompensating for a simple escort. His arms tensed as he tucked his helmet under his arm.

Analyzing his shallow breaths, you wondered if he was simply being overly cautious around you. Short on allies and friends in this company, you decided that it would be best to curry their favour. You gently approached the Captain with topics unrelated to your situation.

“So, Captain Rex… may I ask for your full name?”

His eyebrows furrowed. “Full… name? You mean my designation number?”

You paused, carefully considering your words.

“Do you not have last names besides your callsigns?”

“Agent _________, we’re clones, remember? We’re numbered soldiers. And those names aren’t _callsigns_ , they’re our _names_.”

Rex could almost discern the expression on your face, but the words seemed to elude him when he saw your face fall slightly. He didn’t mean to make you feel like you’d been rude, but it was impossible not to know such basic context to his clone kin.

“Of course, Captain, where are my manners…” you drifted off, unsure how to recover. It was then that you decided to be frank.

“It’s just that, I don’t get to see what’s behind that helmet often. I tend to forget that you’re clones. I suppose it’s easier for me to believe that you’re individuals — the way it was before the lot of you were created. It was… a _simpler_ time.”

The Captain had mixed feelings about your words. He was a mature man, so it wasn’t difficult for him to grasp that _anyone_ would choose a time before war over the current state of affairs in the galaxy, even at the expense of his existence. This bittersweet feeling of having purpose, but purposes that legitimized conflict and war. Without it, he was nothing, and with it… he was complete. Rex visibly shook his head, replying to you whilst shaking himself free of doubt -- it was far too early in the day for those sort of notions.

“Well, we _are_ clones, but you’ll see in time that we’re each our own person. We have different friendships, sometimes different beliefs, but we share a common goal. We have likes, dislikes; quirks and habits, pet peeves and favourite food. We’re not so different from being our own individuals, Agent.”

You smiled, realising that Rex had contemplated very much about this for a long time. Under that hard exterior was a man who cared deeply for his brothers, but was fiercely loyal to both them and the Republic. Maybe a comparison between the troopers pre-clones and them now was unnecessary.

“I see,” you affirmed. “Well, I hope we can get to know each other a little better over time and substantiate those claims. In return, I intend to prove my goodwill.”

Rex reserved his opinion on your intentions here at the Republic. Never would he had imagined working alongside a Separatist, but now that he was speaking to one so casually — it didn’t seem all that bad. Some part of him, deep down, hoped that you were sincere, for your sake and for theirs.

You and Rex exchanged friendly smiles before looking forward again. You enjoyed the conversation, but the silence was also comfortable. After a minute, you spoke.

“So… _favourite food_?” you teased, “What’s yours?”

He groaned, “Let’s… maybe save that discussion for next time.”

You grinned, wondering if he deemed his favourite dish or snack embarrassing to reveal. All he needed was a little coaxing.

“I spent a whole childhood wolfing down Ak berries on toast,” you fondly reminisced. “You ever had any?”

He shook his head, “Can’t say I’ve ever seen one of those.”

“Well, the rush you get from eating a handful is indescribable. It probably made me a difficult child to deal with — I was so hopped up on the sugar high that it would be hard for me to sit still and commit to my studies.”

“Did you go to some sort of academy? To study as an agent?” Rex inquired.

Your head bobbed left to right, insinuating the accuracy of his assumption was neither here nor there.

“It’s… hm, a bit complicated, I—”

You stopped in your tracks as soon as you noticed a large set of blast doors off to the side of the hall. As if it were a perfect segue to avoid a further line of questioning, you earnestly trotted closer to the towering, metal gateway; as curious as a feline tooka.

“Hey, what’s in here?”

Rex knew everything was going far too swimmingly. He reached out to stop you before you could attempt at opening the doors. “Wait, you’re not supposed to—”

Dim lights kindled as soon as the doors slid open, into intense beams that shone from high ceilings into the lower recesses of the vast room you walked into. Setting the room alight, pieces of machinery, droids and vehicles shrouded in darkness were now visible. It had been awhile since you’d seen so much Republic weapons and equipment in one room, and while it gave you a strange sense of familiarity, it also sent you into a awestricken stupor due to the sheer amount of gadgets that were packed into the storage facility.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” Captain Rex sternly asserted.

“Maybe not _unsupervised_ ,” you cheekily added. “But _you’re_ here, so… do you mind giving me a tour?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Come _on_ , cap.”

“No — and don’t call me _‘cap’_.”

“I’ll cut you in on some Ak berries if I’m ever offworld.”

“Are you sure you’re not already eating some?” Rex griped with a remark on your excitability.

“Look—” you started, folding your arms at him, “—you _know_ I’m going to sneak my way into this place if I don’t get a good look around now. You may as well humour me ‘till I’m satisfied. After this, I promise, I’ll never be a nuisance again.”

Strong-arming the Clone Captain of the 501st Legion normally wouldn’t go well over his head. Any other person would have ended their day in stun cuffs, or been held at gunpoint for simply professing that they would break into Republic property for fun, but he knew he had to make nice, especially since you were, to his annoyance, important for the next mission.

Well, you did promise to not be a nuisance. Of course, he would learn time and time again, that you never kept to that promise.

“ _Fine_ , but I’ve got my eye on you. Don’t touch anything—”

By the time he’d looked back up at you, you were already in the corner, examining a heavy blaster rifle with some unique apparatuses attached that you’d never seen in your lifetime. Heaving it off the crate it’d been resting on, you crooned your neck to get a better look at how the weapon looked as you held it just below your midriff, off to the side.

“I’ve never seen anything like this before—”

“Put that down!” he exclaimed, grabbing the end of the rifle, urging you to let go of the other end. “ _Maker_ , it’s like dealing with a child.”

“Okay, well, at least let me look at it,” you whined. Rex was quick to ignore the whole kerfuffle, but still wasn’t pleased by your actions. He passive-aggressively slammed the rifle onto the crate for you to look at its profile, but kept a firm hand on it in case you decided to try anything funny.

“Thanks, Rex,” you acknowledged before glossing over the gun.

You’d seen your fair share of military weaponry, but this was new to you. Improved heat sinks all the way to ergonomic design. Your fingers hovered over the rifle in awe, as if to reach out to touch it, but you knew that Rex would actually end up needing to wrestle you away from it if you couldn’t keep your hands to yourself. You stood at the crate with him, wistfully staring at the rifle for probably longer than a normal person would.

_“Vik would have loved all this advanced tech.”_

A troubled frown crept up to your lips. Seeing all these brought back a flood of memories of a treasured companion. You wish you’d known where to go from here. How were you going to find your friends while keeping your cover? Were they still alive? There were already so many questions, to add your friends into the mix was too much.

“Had enough?” Captain Rex asked, and you did your best to avoid looking at him, for you feared that the emotion in your eyes would give away too much.

“... Yeah. Let’s go, Vik.”

_“Vik?”_

“Sorry — Rex. I’ve just got an old friend on the mind.”


	5. Jumped

The creaking of the mattress beneath you grew ever insistent as you tossed and turned, determined to settle into its springs; wanting to fit your figure into the messy hollow space it created under your own weight, but the incessant throbbing of your wounds ebbed and flowed, like slow, but sure, tides at a shore. Your bandages, slick with sweat and medicine, creased in uncomfortable twists, and you cringed in distress as the parts of your skin that only started healing, folded into itself.

You groaned, knowing that the key to getting a good night’s sleep was a short walk away. You doubted that anyone would have been in the clinic after-hours, but worst case scenario, you could change your own bandages.

Pushing yourself off the mattress, you sat at the edge for a while. All was dark, except for light that seeped from the gap underneath the metal door to your quarters, not of the warmth from the tangerine hues of natural sunlight you were used to, but of an opaline, surgical eggshell white. Shadows danced at the foot of your door every few minutes, taking the shape of feet shuffling up and down the lengthy corridor outside — most likely clone guards patrolling the facility.

Tomorrow, you would begin traveling to your first assignment — well, your first _unofficial_ assignment. Your loyalty to the Republic or the Jedi had yet to be proven present to them. You didn’t mind that it might have taken an eternity for them to realize it, but you hoped that it would be sooner rather than later; only time would tell. 

After that, you swore to yourself that your induction into Republic ranks would mark the beginning of the search of your comrades; that soon as you gained the strength and influence to scour the hinges of the endless expanse of space for the people you’d gladly put your life on the line for — there would be no hesitation from you.

A fatigued breath left your lips, and a gaping yawn evaded your control. You propped your palms to your sides and lifted yourself off the bed. The holographic display on the nightstand blinked steadily at _02:48_ hours. 

You’d better get a move on if you were going to get enough sleep for the long journey to the Mid Rim.

Your condition was improving by the day, but you were definitely not yet at full strength. You dragged your feet beneath you as you willed yourself out of bed and to the medical bay on the far end of the building, plodding clumsily, at times, with a lopsided gait, but that was mostly due to exhaustion. 

It may have been your bleary eyes that deceived you, but even with their helmets on, you could sense the watchful eyes of each clone that you passed by, whether they were from the ones on guard, or on patrol, or of those who were simply strolling by. The nature of their stares could have been laced with any of the three: antipathy, paranoia or intrigue; perhaps a combination of all of them, or none. It was hard to tell with their buckets shielding their features.

You stopped a few paces short of the medbay doors. The medbay was hidden in a small alcove down the corridor, and since it was the last room down the hall, no one appeared to be around. You looked around to be sure — you thought you heard some footsteps, but the ears tended to play tricks on a worn body and mind. The doors parted open as you strolled carefully into the clinic, and promptly slid shut behind you.

The adjoining patient wing to the right was empty. You could imagine that the medbay was packed and home to many injured soldiers on their worst days. Glancing around the room, you went further into the office to check if anyone was here; doubtful, since everything had been turned off. It seemed like you were going to have to do this yourself when suddenly…

The sound of a pair of feet running across cold floors came from behind you. You spun mid-step, startled. Your heart quieted a little when you saw no-one, but your instinct spoke volumes. If you had your weapon with you, no doubt, your fingers would have reached for them, but you maintained your cool disposition, not allowing yourself to be visibly stirred by stray noises. Pausing briefly, you spent a few seconds glazing over the room with naught but a calculated stare, unmoving in your posture. 

You turned back in the direction you were walking, but stayed rooted in the same place, feet slightly apart. Your eyelids fell shut. If you tried, you knew you could make out the source of your suspicions, or rather, _sense_ them.

_WHOOSH_

With impressive speed, you reacted predictably to a mysterious figure’s movements — when your eyes opened, you found, in your grip above your torso, the wrist of a masked woman holding a crudely sharp vibroknife.

 _“Bounty hunter,”_ you snarled.

The next few minutes of this was going to be unpleasant.

* * *

Being shuttled in late from off-world was taxing, after all, Kix knew he had to get up early in the morning on-duty all over again on Coruscant quarters, so he hated when the mission ran long, or when there were delays in departure. He heaved a small crate of medical supplies in his arms, suspending them in air for a brief moment before they landed back safely in his arms, with a secure grip around the edges of the underneath of the box.

The medical bay wasn’t far from the docking bay, so it made it ever so convenient to move supplies back and forth. They were lucky that military personnel didn’t have to register at Coruscant’s actual docking bay used by citizens — not only would it have been extremely far, but needing to deal with customs every time would have been a headache.

Kix was ready to sleep off his exhaustion as soon as he dropped off these necessities in the medbay. When he arrived at the doors, he nonchalantly stepped in, and to his surprise…

You’d been knocked to the ground, and the bounty hunter was towering over you menacingly; the hilt of her vibroblade concealed by the whites of her knuckles. Both of your glares snapped to Kix as soon as the doors opened, and before you knew it, the bounty hunter reacted in the same way any contracted killer would — by getting rid of the eyewitness. Her free palm flew to her side, unholstering her blaster pistol, whipping its sights toward the trooper medic. With a strained bellow, you instantly forced yourself off the ground, ramming into the bounty hunter’s side by shouldering them with the full weight of your body behind you. Her blaster and vibroknife clattered unevenly across the room.

Kix’s fingers unfastened, and the crate he held landed on its side, releasing rolls of tape and containers of medicine onto the ground. Thanks to you, he escaped with his life; a sizzling hole left by the hunter’s stray blaster bolt decorated the wall several inches away from his head. The clone swore under his breath and immediately drew his own pistol at the scene unfolding before him, all whilst speaking into his comm.

“This is Kix: we need back-up in the medbay, _now!_ ”

A haze of confusion lingered above the bounty hunter’s head, having the wind knocked out of her. You chanced your fate, springing forward and leaping onto her body; limbs a tangled mess as her arms struggled to keep yours away from her head.

The trooper medic’s eyes strained. Whenever he had the intruder’s body down his sights, your own intervened, weaving in and out of his crosshairs while the bounty hunter staged an impressive resistance. As soon as he thought to enter the fray himself, the hunter reared her legs into herself and thrusted her feet into your stomach. You launched backward and onto the floor, grimacing as the tender wounds on your body throbbed in agitated response. 

The bounty hunter booked no remorse, no pause, no second thought — her long arms swiped at her blaster and shot to kill, and you squeezed your eyes shut in anticipation — but it wasn’t her trigger that pulled first. When the silent pang of death did not come to you swiftly, you opened your eyes to be greeted with the sight of your assassin devoid of life. You looked up at the clone, who took a second to make sure his aim had been true, before he looked back at you.

Lowering his blaster, he walked swiftly to your side and knelt to your level, removing his helmet and cinching it under his arm.

“Are you hurt?” he asked. His tone of genuine concern surprised you.

“I don’t believe so. Maybe just a bruised ego,” you lamented. Part of you was just glad to survive the ordeal, the other part was ashamed that you’d let a bounty hunter get the best of you. Your old superiors and comrades would have never let you live it down.

“We should get you checked out anyway. Wait here, while I make sure there’s none of them left. I won’t be far,” he assured, standing tall, cautiously marching over to the adjacent patient wing.

When he was no longer within sight, or rather, you weren’t in his, you practically hopped to your feet and scrambled over to the dead bounty hunter, who now, upon closer inspection, was no human, but Keshiri. You hurriedly ran your fingers over the lining of her garments, feeling for any hard edges or unusual textures or shapes. Your fingers slid past her vest pockets, then doubled back instantly when your nails hit a ridge. Your hands dug deep into her pockets.

The clone’s footsteps returned, and you clasped your hand over whatever it was that you’d felt, before yanking it out and swiftly pocketing it in your own slacks, returning to the position he last noticed you in. You winced — your sudden movements hurt you, but they were necessary.

You only hoped that, whatever you took, meant that there was one less piece of evidence that could expose and incriminate you.

“I’ll get the others to sweep and secure the area as well,” the clone walked back into the medbay office, keeping you up to date. He noticed you eyeing the body that laid a few feet away from you.

“I’m fairly sure she’s gone, but I can cuff her if it makes you more comfortable,” he guessed.

“No, it’s fine. She’s… _definitely_ dead,” you sighed.

“Alright. Let’s make sure you didn’t sustain any injuries,” the clone said, holstering his blaster.

“It’s really fine,” you replied, slightly nervous and suddenly, very acutely aware of the stolen item in your possession, resting unseen in your pocket.

“If it’s all the same to you—" he insisted, "—I’d sleep better knowing I made sure you were okay."

You weren’t one to return thanks with obstinacy. In the span of a few minutes, you both helped each other, quite literally, dodge blaster bolts. Perhaps, he felt indebted to check on you, just as you felt indebted to let him do so.

“Of course, um…” you paused, gesturing your palm at him for him to speak his name.

“It’s CT-6116 — just call me _Kix_.”


	6. The Check-Up

“How long were you in here for?”

You looked at the holoclock on Dr. Kalonia’s office table from the gurney you sat on. _03:35 already,_ you thought. The bounty hunter’s body had been taken away by the other clones on duty.

“Not even a minute before I got jumped. Then our fun little fight went on for, oh, I don’t know—” you turned your gaze toward the floor, “ _—too long,_ probably.”

“Couldn’t have been,” Kix strode purposefully toward you and continued, “Doesn’t look like you got hit much.”

 _"Hey_ , I can fend for myself for as long a time I need; you underestimate me,” you defended. 

“Maybe,” he smiled back, “but I only managed to catch the last act, so whatever happened before didn’t count.”

You let your eyes roll at him.

“Could you look forward for me?” you heard him ask.

Your head turned out of curiosity rather than instruction. In the brief moment between then and two seconds, you summarised Kix’s features in your mind: gentle brown eyes, fresh five o’ clock shadow, tidy buzz cut, a tattoo on the side of his head that you couldn’t yet read due to the fact that you were sitting down. You found yourself intuitively leaning to the side to steal a quick glance at his tattoo, but abruptly shot back when a sharp ray of light flared into your vision, to which your palms lifted marginally in surprise.

“Don’t get all jumpy, it’s just a little light to see if you’re concussed,” he smirked; his vacant hand pushing yours down, urging you to relax.

“A little warning would be nice next time,” you suggested.

“Hopefully, there’ll be no need for a _next time,_ ” he said, “I don’t know about you, but one assassination attempt is already one too many.”

The blacks of your eyes fluctuated with every shift of the flashlight; your pupils contracting and expanding to an extent in order to adjust to the strength of the bulb. Kix leaned into your face with his and tilted your head upward with his two fingers against the bottom of your chin, examining closely to see that your pupils stayed constricted, as it was human reflex to do so. He delicately moved his fingers along to the left, swaying your face the other way.

“All clear, no evidence of a concussion; your ocular function’s fine,” Kix commented, peering into your other eye, unaware of the proximity between his face and yours. Once he did realize it a second too late, he pulled back the lingering hand on your face, a bit suddenly, with rising heat in his throat. Clearing it with a breathy cough, he reminded himself to keep moving with the examination, and not get distracted by your person.

“What about your, uh, existing wounds?” Kix inquired whilst holding your attention rather than staring at your torso. You felt the unscrupulously rumpled coverings around your midriff start to come undone; you’d felt it as soon as you’d woken up, and the mess was even more apparent to you now — even though you couldn’t see it, the discomfiture was answer enough.

“I could use some new bandages,” you deduced. “I should be able to handle that by myself.”

“Here,” he offered, having picked up the single roll of bandages that fell to the floor earlier and tossing them over to you. You caught the object with ease and autonomously began to unfurl the fabric.

“I’ll turn to give you some privacy,” he said.

As he pivoted on his heel, you caught sight of his Aurebesh tattoo.

_A good droid is a dead one._

You raised a brow; questions taking structure in your mind to be presented to the trooper medic — but you decided to enjoy the peace and quiet for just a minute. In the tip of your fingers held a thin, absorbent sheet of dressing; its edges frayed in soft quills of material. Stretching the length of bandage across your burns, you lifted your top and made for the process of swathing it round and round your body. Already, you felt a vast improvement having your wounds exposed to fresh, dry air, over the forgotten humidity from before.

“Not a fan of droids?” you prodded, continuing to wrap circles around yourself. Unsure as to whether he would’ve turned out of the blue, you kept your eye on him either way to make sure he didn’t, especially while you were still indecent.

“I’ve seen too many clankers to last a lifetime, and I think anyone would come to the same conclusion.”

Your voice wavered in volume due to the physics of directional hearing; you focused on covering your wounds by crooning your neck down at them, and occasionally, over and under your shoulder to ensure its immovability.

“Maybe you just haven’t met the right one?” you teased.

Kix snorted, “Yeah, right.”

“No, really—” you proceeded, “—I used to feel the same way. Then I came across a very unique droid, when I was, um, younger. We became fast friends, actually.”

Friends? With a _droid?_ Kix must have been hearing things. Then, he thought of a simple argument that would undo your protest.

“Did it try to kill you at any point?” 

You paused.

“Well, yes, but—”

“I rest my case.”

You mumbled under your breath to yourself, “—it didn’t _mean_ to...”

Truth be told, Kix had some reservations about who you really were, and why you were brought to the clone facility on Coruscant. When the mess halls were swimming with rumours of a Separatist agent working with the Republic, only the worst assumptions about you rose to the top of the airwaves. _She couldn’t be trusted, she’ll sabotage any mission, she’d report back to the Separatists. She was secretly a cannibalistic alien that took the form of a human, and would snatch clones in the dead of night to devour them, feeding her lust for blood._

But you were none of those things. You fought, struggled, hurt, joked and laughed like any other sane being would. Most importantly, you saved his hide - everything he heard about you from other clones, ridiculous or not, dispelled like snow on live coals. 

If anything, in these minutes you’d spent together, Kix actually found you likeable, and your company _enjoyable_. You broke his train of thought when he heard audible grunts coming from your direction.

“Everything okay back there?” he pried.

Your arms lolled to your sides in frustration, and your top fell back down, covering up your body once again.

“Sorry, I just need some help with fastening it at the back. Bandage ran short,” you explained, holding onto the final length of fabric. Kix cautiously glanced over his shoulder, noticing that you’d already picked up your feet and lifted them over to the other side of the gurney with your back toward him. He walked over to you, canvassing your handiwork.

“Not half bad,” he judged, reaching for the end of the tape from your hands, which he briefly pinched just as you let go, for him to take over. The roughness of his fingers grazed your own for a fleeting moment, before they disappeared behind you, only for your tender sides to be tickled at a stranger’s touch. You flinched slightly, to which he grunted a quick apology for startling you.

Just outside, the two of you heard a series of expletives and run-on annoyances from a very familiar voice, muffled behind the automatic doors, seemingly directed at other clones. You exhaled noisily, but waited patiently to Kix to finish helping you.

“That doesn’t sound good,” you surmised, never having heard the Captain so angry in the few days that you were lodged here.

“Nope, it _really_ doesn’t,” Kix agreed, finally tucking the excess fibres into your body wrap.

Captain Rex strode in. The unusual sight of one of his soldiers not standing at attention with both your backs faced toward the entryway was enough cause for concern for him. He immediately began commandeering the conversation.

“Is she hurt?” Rex questioned.

 _“She's_ doing fine, Captain,” you answered for yourself, titling the man so as to not undermine his authority in front of his company. Once you felt Kix’s fingers deviate away from your skin, you straightened your posture, lowered the rest of your top and turned back around. “My fault for being so lax anyway; it’s been so quiet these past few days, I almost forgot I was a loose end waiting to be tied up.”

“This shouldn’t have happened. I’ll have security tightened when we return from the Mid Rim,” Rex announced. 

“Don’t sweat it. I took care of myself long enough, and if it weren’t for this _heroic_ clone that came to my rescue, it would’ve been me instead of her,” you complimented, lightly elbowing Kix in his side, and that made him grin.

“I mean, I wouldn’t call myself _heroic_ per say, I really just walked in without—”

Captain Rex glared humorlessly at Kix.

“I’ll, uh, see myself out,” Kix muttered. He nodded at you as you exchanged a silent but meaningful stare of understanding, that there was now a bond between the two of you for having helped each other make a narrow dash away from death’s door. Eventually, he was gone.

“Don’t be mad at your troops, Rex,” you dropped his title almost instantly. You’re surprised he even let you do so, but decided against questioning it. “There was no predicting this, especially since the Keshiri are very well trained.”

“Easy for you to say—” he sighed, “—had anything happened, the whole assignment would have been jeopardized.”

“Hey, have a little faith in me. I’m a lot harder to kill than that, _trust me_ ,” you winked before hopping off the gurney, following after Kix’s motions of leaving the medbay office.

“Do you need me to walk you back?” Rex generously put forward. It was then that you realized that Rex saw you, not only as an agent, but a human susceptible to the threat of danger. Even Kix felt the same way. In your weakened state, you were a sitting duck in their eyes. It was easy to take offense to this, but you knew in your heart that he had good intentions, and did not mean to imply you were defenseless and incapable of protecting yourself - in essence, that was very far from the truth.

“I’ll be alright, Rex,” you assured. “I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow.”

“Make sure you get some shut-eye,” worried the Captain, wondering if the sudden turn of events tonight harried your mind. Maker only knew how many more attempts on your life there would be — but you didn’t really fear them. You knew you were well-equipped to handle any mere hunter that dared to cross your path.

You walked further and further, until you left the medbay, disappearing from the Captain's line of sight.

You placed your hands in your pockets, gripping the holodrive you looted off the bounty hunter earlier, as if to make sure it hadn’t escaped your possession.

It was time to see what was on it.


	7. A Disturbance In The Force

On the horizon lay the rising sun, peeking just above the plane of clouds in the far distance. You watched quietly as the colours of the sky mingled; blotches of topaz yellow and cotton pink bleeding into each other, holding your arms just under your chest in rising trepidation. You continued your watchful gaze on the clones scattered across the docking bay, tending to their own duties — like ants in a colony — as they prepared the ship for the journey to the Mid Rim. Occasionally, you found yourself fiddling with the holodrive in your fingers. Of course, you hadn’t forgotten about it.

In the middle of a courtyard overlooking the docking bay, you stood anxiously by your lonesome. You believed that it was here, that was safe for you to examine the contents of this drive. There were no windows, no floor higher than the one you stood on, no cameras and no clones at the time; they were probably in the middle of switching shifts. So, you thought to yourself, _“I ought to make this quick and dispose of it as soon as possible.”_

_Whatever’s on this holodrive, don’t spiral._

Your fingers undid themselves, and in your palm sat the small drive of data. Lifting it up in front of you, you delicately tapped the single button protruding from its surface, all whilst holding vigilant to the space around you. You definitely did not need to be snuck up on.

A holoscreen emerged from the minuscule drive; a tame, blue light painted the contours of your face as you scanned the Aurebesh words typed across the semi-opaque surface of the screen. To no surprise of your own, the first thing you noticed was your own portrait in the middle of it. Your vacant hand balled into a fist. The anger stemmed, not because you were the subject matter, but because of how much you couldn’t recognise yourself — it was a picture from before your rescue from the Seperatist ship — a picture of you, starved and tortured; cheeks hollow and eyes sunken, spirits broken, and your hope, lost to hate.

Your attention was pulled down to the details. Total bounty (an amiable amount of zeroes tacked on at the end was both flattering and patronising to you), place of birth, age, spoken languages, last seen location, threat level: _extremely_ dangerous, _proceed with caution._

 _Nothing out of the ordinary for a bounty contract,_ you summarised, content with your findings.

Then you hit a line that wrote, _‘occupation’_.

> **_OCCUPATION_ **
> 
> _SITH APPRENTICE_

You stifled a meek laugh. _Sith apprentice?_

Your amusement quickly melted into disbelief, then descended rapidly into a stewing rage, and before you knew it, you found the screen in front of you crackling in and out of existence, as if being jammed by an unseen element. The metal framing of the holodrive began to dent as your displeasure reached new heights. _Sith apprentice?_ You did not survive this long to be remembered as a _Sith_. The absolute gall of Count Dooku only fanned the fire of your temper; the vision of his tall form silhouetted in streaks of violet lightning made your stomach do flips, and your wounds trembled in memory of the scars he’d leave across your torso.

The heat emanating from your body began to steam your veins, and you swore, you could feel billows of smoke spouting out your ears. Your shoulders tensed, pulling taut the muscles on your forearms as you felt your body tremor from pure outrage.

“Is _this_ how the world will remember me?!” you scowled, losing control over your composure. The chirping of birds dissipated and silenced as they, too, felt the air around the courtyard become heavy with the stench of animosity.

_No, you have to calm down. Lose your head now, and you’ll be discovered._

Just as you’d practiced, you shut your eyes, fighting the lure of the dark side and the temptation of vengeance. Clearing your troubled mind, you told yourself to let go of the anger, for as long as you wielded it in your hands, the hotter it would have burned. It was easier, _much easier_ , said than done. It took you a good minute to bring yourself back down to a less agitated state, and after all was said and done, you hurriedly centered your emotions and cloaked your true identity by masking your alignment — a talent you'd learned a long time ago — hoping that no Jedi sensed it.

When your eyelids fluttered open, the skin across your hand was littered with tiny flecks of metal, and what remained was a crushed holodrive left in the wake of your fury — destroyed by the sheer will of the Force.

No one would trust you if they knew what you were trained for, even if you were never loyal to the Separatist cause, let alone the Sith, to begin with.

* * *

“Did you load the rest of the crates, Snips?”

“Yeah, and Master Kenobi already handled the rest. Most of the clones were already on it, anyway,” Ahsoka nodded.

Obi-Wan chimed in from a short distance, “Very typical of your Master to start barking orders at others whilst carrying out none of them himself.”

“Hey, delegating is just one of the _many_ things a leader does,” Anakin returned with an egoistic grin.

“Indeed, it’s a wonder how we manage to get _anything_ done without you,” the second General joked, lightening the conversation even more.

However, the mood fell short of pleasant when all three Jedi stopped their motions abruptly. Something heavy weighed on their minds, and each of them sequentially raised their fingers to their heads; the disorienting nature of sensing something like this throwing them for a loop. Ahsoka struggled to speak clearly, still affected by the short burst of a strong presence.

“What was… _that_ _?”_ she inquired; worry plastered on her face. “It was so… _intense_.”

Anakin opened his eyes, checking on his Padawan. “A disturbance in the Force.”

When Obi-Wan hesitated to speak his turn, Anakin continued.

“What should we do? You felt it too. It wasn’t very familiar. Should we be concerned?” the young Jedi asked his partner.

“Concerned, yes—” Obi-Wan hummed into the hand that rested on his chin, “—but there’s not much we can do until it presents itself. We’ll contact Master Yoda to see what he thinks once we board; I’m sure he sensed it as well.”

Anakin had experiences dealing with unseen threats, and even though his impatient nature warred with his past experiences, he knew Obi-Wan was right. At this rate, it could have been a thousand things interrupting the flow of this natural aura known to them as The Force. To seek it out prematurely would have been a waste of time. He only hoped that the disturbance was unrelated to their new assignment. 

The three Jedi, long-time partners in crime, continued to wordlessly load the rest of their supplies into the ship. No doubt, the disturbance had shaken them up a bit, leading all of them to wonder if the source was closer than they’d thought.

Maybe it was due to the fact that they were now on edge, but Anakin quickly noticed you approaching the ship from the docking bay entrance, with Captain Rex not far behind you. He almost had to do a double-take — the last time he saw you, you weren’t fit enough to stand, and you were far from nourished, but here you were, almost a different person physically. Your white patient garments had been traded for clothes of a burnt maroon shade; consisting of a form-fitting top and bottom, save for its loose sleeves, cinched at the ends with dark cuffs, with one being a wrist comm.

You’d have been especially stunning, were it not for the soured frown on your lips. The Jedi, clad in black, curiously watched like an onlooking cat as you came closer.

“Didn’t get much sleep last night, huh?” Anakin greeted you with a fact.

“Good morning to you too, General Skywalker,” you muttered. It was with a grim sigh that made your shoulders slouch partially. Your mood was definitely ruined by your early discovery, but with no one to turn to, you swallowed your frustration and pretended to simply be plagued by a lack of sleep and nothing more.

“We heard about the attempt on your life last night,” Obi-Wan walked up to you, concerned. “I hope you weren’t hurt too badly.”

“Hurt, no — annoyed, _yes_ ,” you half-heartedly quipped. “I have Captain Rex and his troopers to thank for the protection. And thank you for your concern as well, General Kenobi.”

“No better way to kick-off an assignment with an _assassination attempt_ ,” Anakin spoke sarcastically before walking toward the ship with Obi-Wan, his voice going soft. “Tell me again, why do we think bringing her is a good idea?”

It was going to be a long journey with Skywalker on board. The bearded general, whom you had not conversed much with, shot you an apologetic glance over his shoulder for his partner’s impudence before moving on to board the ship with him. While the men, inclusive of Rex, walked ahead to join the rest of the crew, you and Ahsoka tailed behind. What she said next was a welcome surprise.

“Agent ________, I hope we can get to know each other better. I know my Master can be, well, _skeptical_ at times —he’s always like that— but he’ll come around. Doesn’t mean that I feel the same way, though.”

“I won’t let you down, Ahsoka,” you smiled. Your bitterness regressed into a placated calm, when you realized that at least _one_ Jedi had faith in you, and was more than happy to give you the benefit of the doubt. You stopped in your tracks, watching Anakin walk up the ramp to the ship. The arrogance of the young Jedi was mild but persistent; and you couldn’t help but feel like it mirrored your own attitude toward your own abilities. No matter which way you sliced it, you and Anakin were more alike than you’d first thought.

“Something wrong?” Ahsoka turned back to you.

“Not at all,” you assured her. Having spent enough time pondering how to earn the respect of one Anakin Skywalker, you shifted your focus to his Togruta Padawan, who was still young, and quick to trust. 

You would need all the help you could get when the time came to look for your old friends.


	8. A Friendly Match

The mirthless fog that followed you from earlier on in the day began to dwindle, the more time you spent in aimless conversation with Ahsoka. You lay with your back on the topmost mattress, mounted firmly onto the wall of your shared room. It was a small ship meant for a covert mission, and it exchanged the availability of space for utility. The Padawan sat across the room, cross-legged on the surface of a desk, waiting for your reply as you lay down contentedly, eyeing a mote of dust that floated on the slightest current of air.

“Definitely my fourth mission to Kashyyyk,” you settled on your answer. “Tach dung _everywhere_. Do you know how many times I’ve had to duck projectile fecal matter when strolling about the Shadowlands? Not to mention the noises they make; the screeching and the wailing, the incessant monkeying around… ugh. And the smell, Ahsoka — the smell!”

You recollected the experience like it was yesterday. The unpleasant scent of nature’s extreme ends made you shiver inadvertently. Ahsoka laughed at the quivering of your shoulders, clearly seeing that the memory was far too unsavoury to permit its reimagining.

“Okay, you win — I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure of dealing with poop-flinging Tachs during _my_ missions,” she mused. 

“That aside, it wasn’t _all_ bad. I had a good crew accompanying me. It was never a dull moment with them,” you spoke fondly of your squad.

“Sounds like fun,” she noted, witnessing the sentimental, somewhat goofy, grin on your face as you recalled a time from long ago. “I only ever had Master Skywalker and Master Kenobi accompany me on my missions.”

“You make that sound like a bad thing,” you remarked.

You picked up on a hint of indisposition, gated by reluctance to imply anything other than respect. The look on Ahsoka’s face was one of casual apathy.

“It’s not — but I think Anakin still doubts my abilities as a Jedi. It’s always, _‘be careful, Snips_ ’, or _‘I’m coming with you, just to be sure, Snips’_ , or _‘I don’t think that’s a good idea, Ahsoka’_ ,” mimicked the Jedi Padawan, in a voice strikingly similar to the depth of Skywalker’s own. Lost in her own imitation, the irony of it all was that she and her Master were in the same position, except that Anakin’s own contention was shackled to Obi-Wan’s adherence to caution.

Your eyelids closed, and you sought to reach into Ahsoka’s presence in the Force. She had great potential. Anakin’s attachment to his Padawan only muzzled her — but, hell, you were the absolute worst person in the galaxy to make a conscious effort to start preaching about the importance of a Jedi’s objectivity — you wouldn’t be here if you had any.

“If I may—” you sat up on the top bunk, “—General Skywalker’s probably just realising that tutoring a Padawan is proving more challenging than he’d first thought. It’s likely that he’s worried you’re like him; impatient, reckless, and sometimes… _self-serving?”_ you guessed, watching Ahsoka react to your chosen adjectives with awe, surprised at the accuracy. Before she could question your methods, you took the initiative of going first.

You shrugged, “The thing about Jedi like Anakin is that they are too easy to read. Too easy to take advantage of, because they feel too much, all at once. They do not fear the thought of their passions consuming them, only that they may regret not acting upon them. That kind of fear, Ahsoka, is easy to manipulate.”

Ahsoka carefully considered your words.

“What I’m trying to say is, don’t let it get to you. The only person you need to prove your worth to is yourself. Once General Skywalker can see that, he’ll lay off. You’d have shown that you can act on your own accord, with the heedfulness of a Padawan but the judgement of an experienced Jedi — that you’re not an easy victim to the call of the Dark Side.”

A silence blanketed the ambience of the room. You might have waxed sophistication and familiarity with the Force, a bit much. You awkwardly coughed.

“That is, at least, how I interpret your relationship. As a special ops agent, it’s important for me to have a keen eye,” you concluded.

“Well, it makes a lot of sense,” Ahsoka agreed. 

If the time came, you would’ve been ashamed to admit that you’d never taken any of your own advice. As a youngling, you constantly pushed the boundaries of morality, and ripped the roots of foundation when it came to differentiating right from wrong, but the debate of moral alignment was for another time. There and then, Ahsoka Tano needed a guiding hand that steered her toward a path less harrowing than your own.

“Thank you, ________. It’s nice to have an equal, let alone another girl, around for a change.”

“Of course, Ahsoka. I’m here if you ever need it.”

* * *

Restless was one word to describe your time sheltered in the ship’s confines. The sound of armoured feet that lacked urgency, the low frequency of the vessel’s reactor core, the chatter that bordered nonsensical the further you stood from the common area, reduced to nothing but mumbles and murmurs. It was driving you crazy. Ahsoka’s company was a refreshing change of pace, but even she and the other two Jedi, sometimes, needed time to themselves to meditate, as a devoted Force-user should.

The choice to leave your shared quarters with her was simple enough — she seemed weary from having gotten off a holocall briefing with Master Yoda. Even though she’d insisted that you stay and made yourself at home, you left under the guise of wanting to stretch a little, by wandering around the ship.

After your narrow escape from the Separatists, you struggled to find a balance between savouring these newfound moments of freedom that had no strings attached, and spending your waking moments meticulously planning out your next course of action. Where would you even begin to look for your friends? You wondered if this pending assignment would concoct more questions than answers. 

As if having been stirred from a daydream, a faint noise, familial in essence, grabbed your attention; it’s rhythm switching mindlessly between erraticism and regularity, playing out in an unpredictable pattern for your ears. Straying away from the pointless chatter of clones, you went in the opposite direction, in pursuit of a sound you were once never without.

General Skywalker slashed and swung at the training dummy in a large room that was reinforced with durasteel walls, which housed many other motionless stand-ins as well. His lightsaber glimmered bright in his hands, and you watched intently, like a moth to a flame, as the blazing rod of light simmered at the slightest physical contact. The Jedi’s form was confusing to you — your approval was routed by lack of technique in the man’s stance, and the feverish anticipation in which he curdled his every advance, pointed toward a lack of perseverance for opportunity. You shrewdly bit your lip, as every fibre of your being went into stopping yourself from pointing out the flaws in his tactics. It wasn’t that he was bad at swordplay — he simply could have been better, more efficient, savvier in his—

“I was wondering how long it would’ve taken for you to start snooping around,” he spoke above the volume of his saber. It seemed that he had noticed you from the start. His lightsaber sliced the air as it retreated into its hilt.

“I bet you’re _awfully_ disappointed that I don’t have a vibroknife in my hand and a secret plot to kill you right now,” you joshed.

“Maybe just a little,” he returned, “As much as I want to be proven right about you and your intentions, there’s no way you could kill me, even if you tried.”

“There is more to us non-Jedi than relying on physical prowess to barge through every obstacle…” you waltzed into the room, each stride, a visible taunt as you encroached on his space. “... I couldn’t say the same for _you_.”

Anakin narrowed his eyes at you. Even though he was just as much to blame for your distaste toward him, he didn’t like the fact that you, who appeared out of nowhere, and almost too conveniently, mocked him with no holds barred. Within him, festered a need to best you. And just like that, you had the Jedi wrapped tangibly around your finger, exactly where you wanted him — riled up, overexcited. As you mentioned to Ahsoka: an easy target to play with. 

Like the large felines of the wild, you toyed with your food before feasting on it.

“How about a friendly match?” you proposed, predicting his animosity; arms opened to show sportsmanship. “You, me, and a pair of practice blades. No force tricks or fancy acrobatics — just old fashioned sparring. If you can beat me, I’ll do anything you want.”

Anakin chuckled lowly.

“Really?”

You nodded resolutely. Your sharp hearing didn’t fail you when you heard him cockily mutter under his breath, that it was _‘your funeral’_. Anakin raised two heavy swords made of harmless material with his force abilities, pulling one toward his person, and the other, he sent hurtling toward you. To his chagrin, you caught it easily, with one hand outstretched.

“Good luck, Jedi — I’m _very_ good at handling a sword,” you grinned wickedly.

* * *

Maker, if you weren’t keeping track of the time, you swore that the both of you were at it for over an hour. In reality, it was twenty minutes that felt stretched across a lifetime of battles. The heat and ferocity of your entanglement was unmatched by any practice fights that either of you have ever had with anyone.

Anakin dropped to his knee; beads of sweat dripping carelessly onto the ground beneath him, chest heaving in and out as he struggled to catch his breath. He gave you a good run for your money as well. You were smart, but he was relentless, giving you no quarter. You stood before him, hand on your side, clutching your waist, as if you were to collapse if you let go of yourself. The air in the room was stale, and the lack of circulation in it made it feel like you were both steaming in a sauna.

“Good fight... Skywalker,” you summoned a weak laugh in between breaths.

Anakin lifted his head and watched for any sudden movement on your part. He was astonished by your skill in a close-combat situation. How was it that you were so _exceptionally_ coached for just an agent? Either the Republic had dodged a bullet and were extremely lucky to have you on their side, or you were still hiding something. Whatever it was, he was still fuming with frustration. He was a _trained Jedi_ , and you were not. 

It did not add up that this fight did not end in victory for him.

“But—” you continued, “ _—technically_ _,_ you didn’t win, so I—”

The last thing you expected was Anakin to tackle you to the ground. You let out an audible gasp; the last remnants of oxygen getting forced out of your lungs as you tumbled across the training room, with his body in tow. What started out as a sword fight became a match in very, _very_ close proximity. 

When you both finally rolled to a stop, you settled on top of him, ready to seal him to the ground with your hips — but you felt his foot hook around your ankle, sweeping you underneath him. In a last, desperate attempt to thwart his win, you yanked on the collar of his shirt, and he reciprocated with a fistful of cloth close to your neck, both ready to strike.

“What do you _think_ you’re doing?”

Your little engagement came to a grinding halt as soon as you both heard a stern voice call out from the training room entryway. With Anakin sat on top of you; arm high above his head, seemingly ready to swing down, and the neckline of his clothes in a vice grip that was your fingers, you swallowed begrudgingly, as did Anakin.

For the first time since you’d met, he gazed at you meaningfully. And at long last, Anakin Skywalker gave you an unfussy smile, one that felt respectful and real. Cut from the same reckless and unpredictable cloth, you winked at the Jedi, having genuinely enjoyed your sparring session with him.

“Don’t worry, it’s just a friendly match. _She_ suggested it,” he promptly lifted himself off of you, then extended his palm for you to take hold of. Obi-Wan watched closely, reservations pooling in his mind as his eyes darted back and forth between the both of you. You grabbed hold of his gloved hand, and for a short moment, he seemed to not let go until you pulled away from him.

“A _friendly_ match, you say,” General Kenobi repeated, skeptical of the events that took place here. “Then do you mind if I asked who was winning?”

You and Anakin smiled audaciously at each other.

“Jury’s still out on that one,” you answered.


	9. Crossed Signals

“The men are all here, General.”

Anakin nodded affirmatively at the Captain, then told them to convene in the holoterminal room. In it, stood all three Jedi and yourself, and eventually, did the rest of the small, clandestine squad trickle in, arraying themselves according to rank.

A couple days have passed, and you were now in the last league of travel.

“We’ve received new intel that the cargo ship hasn’t left for the Separatist Base in Aargonar, and is still docked in Trancret,” Obi-Wan briefed, “We’ll have to find a way onto that planet if we want to even come close to getting on that ship.”

“So, this is an _extraction_ mission?” you confirmed.

“Whatever it takes to get an edge in the war,” Anakin reflected, to Obi-Wan’s dissatisfaction. You microscopically examined his uneasy glance at his partner; it seemed that the older general wasn’t taking to the idea of using whatever this shipment was, for purposes of war — but orders were orders.

“In any case, we’ll need to contact the Senate to get us a docking license for the Perkell Sector, so we’d be clear for landing,” sighed Obi-Wan.

“We don’t exactly have time for that,” you chimed in. "Not to mention that we lose the element of surprise." 

“I’m open to suggestions,” he said, fully aware of the situation at hand. 

“I can slice the ship’s sublight engines and give the transponder access to Separatist ship codes,” you volunteered. On one hand, the general in command appeared offended at the suggestion, whereas the other, appeared reasonably impressed.

“What you’re suggesting is… highly illegal, Agent _______,” General Kenobi debated with himself. “But it seems we have little choice. Hopefully, they won’t notice any foul play.”

You settled your palm on your hip, shifting the weight of your body to another foot when you noticed Anakin speak up, half-expectant of some criticism, but to your fortune, it was approval. 

“High risk, high reward — I like it," praised Skywalker, "As long as it gets us on that ship without causing a scene, I’m all for it.”

“Right, let’s not forget that we have _no_ quarrel with the Trancretes. Whatever they do with their criminal organisation is their business - we’re just here to… _relieve_ them of dangerous cargo without arousing suspicion,” Obi-Wan summarised.

“I’ll get right on it,” you told them. You started to turn on your heel, headed toward the engine monitoring room when you heard Rex’s command ring down the hall you’d just walked into.

“Take Echo with you, in case you need any assistance.”

You stuck your thumb out in the air, continuously marching away from the crew without a hint of stopping. Echo, dismissing himself, eventually caught up with your walking pace as his feet, clad in heavy armour, stomped across the hall. The clone tossed you a dubious glance; an irksome expression formed under his bucket, the faster you walked. Sure, you were in a hurry, but Echo wondered if the increasing pressure of the mission was in line with the speed at which you were accelerating.

He wasn’t one to complain in front of his superiors. Actually, were _you_ his superior? All the rules and regulations tattooed in the recesses of his mind hadn’t prepared him for circumstances like this; like working with a defector. Surely, he still had some semblance authority, considering you weren’t officially part of the Grand Army of the Republic. He treated most people with respect, regardless, but this was different. You were a _Separatist_. It was part of his code to oppose those who backed a cause that went against everything he stood for. Now, you’d put forward the idea of imbuing Separatist signals within the ship’s transponder?

The more he considered, the less of a good idea he thought this was.

“—hey, _buddy_.”

Echo snapped out of his musings. You raised a brow at him, emulating concern and amusement. Without his realisation, the both of you had already arrived in front of the doors to the engine monitoring room.

“Thinking about what a _bad_ idea this is?” you knowingly chided. Your fingers flew across a nearby holoterminal; a combination of swipes and taps resulting in the opening of the bolted doors before you. "I wouldn't worry too much about it. Trancret's probably seen a lot of questionable starships come and go from the trade business; you'd be surprised at how many Republic ships have been stolen and modified." 

“Whatever I feel about this is _irrelevant_. If the generals believe that this is what we have to do to retrieve the shipment, then it’s not my place to object,” Echo said dutifully. He hated being in a deadlock with his core values and his orders.

“Hm. I wish my squad were more like you,” you shook your head, minutely amazed at his obedience to law.

“Your squad?” he pried. “You mean, when you were allied with those Separatist _scum_.”

You let out a small laugh in response. 

“... Sure, let’s go with that. Say what you will, but it can be frustrating when your team strays from the pecking order. For the most part, I trust them—“ you said whilst gesturing him into the room, “—but _damn_ , if it isn’t annoying when they don’t listen to you.”

“... Right,” he simply answered. The truth was, Echo was slightly alarmed at how you’d just managed to summarise his every excursion with his tight-knit group of clones. While he was a stickler for the rules, his comrades bent them at every opportunity, sometimes going as far as to break them. 

However, he wasn’t going to tip you off to the fact that you’d read him well.

The ship’s engine sat further in the distance, but getting to the root of the issue didn’t warrant you actually entering the engine room. Hence, the room in which the crew monitored it was enough — all you had to do was slice the codes in externally anyway — but this task was no easy feat. You weren’t a mechanic, but a skill like this was far too useful not to learn. It had saved you many trips back and forth between systems, and due to the nature of your line of work years ago, it was crucial to use every trick up your sleeve, every ace in the hole as influence or advantage.

“Er, what _exactly_ are you doing?” Echo stood steadfast behind your figure as you stopped at the holoterminal in the middle of the room. He wanted to minimise his contact with you, but he couldn’t help but indulge in his transient curiosity.

“I’m checking to see if this starship can run multiple codes simultaneously, and alternate between signals when needed,” you explained. “That way, you’d never have to worry about entering Separatist territory again. At least, not until you exit your ship and they clearly see that you’re not Separatists. Otherwise, I’ll have to override these set of codes just for this mission; don’t worry, I’ll keep a backup of the original.”

Echo witnessed your expertise in action, silently watching as you remained focused on the task at hand, and it led him to think about all the times that they had to navigate around opposition waters just to avoid battle. With this, they could breeze through every system unbothered — granted that they didn’t look out their window.

“Could you come over here for a sec?” you asked the clone. You started to wonder if he wasn’t comfortable being in your presence; noticing how acutely he reacted whenever you addressed him, or how his neck stiffened at the mention of your affiliation with the enemy, or the fact that you’d already walked to the far end of the room, and all he did was stay rooted in his position, as if he were eager to jump at the slightest commotion.

“I’m not going to bite, Echo. Well, not _hard_ ,” you joked. “I just want to show you how it’s done — as thanks for keeping me company.”

What started as minor heart palpitations grew into a thundering in his chest. Some part of him reacted negatively to how overly comfortable and confident you were when you spoke to him or one of his kin (namely, Captain Rex), and the other part was thrilled at the prospect of having someone so resourceful become loyal to his cause.

Wait, no, you were still a Separatist agent. You were probably _trained_ to lower guards and infiltrate. That must have been the case, right? 

Doubt and faith were tipping the scales haphazardly, and his brain just couldn’t handle the mental whiplash brought upon by this unusual situation.

“What should I do?” he stepped forward, ready for your instruction.

“First thing’s first — take off your helmet.”

_“What?”_

“You heard me. It’s hot and stuffy in here. I don’t know how you’re not uncomfortable in this sweltering heat. We’re next to the engine room, and I swear, I’m going to melt,” you complained, fanning yourself with your palm, which wasn’t very effective, but it beat the stagnant air that snaked up the atmosphere in waves.

He lifted and rested his hands atop his helmet, pausing momentarily; his hesitancy correlating to his skepticism.

“Or don’t — suit yourself,” you challenged, shrugging.

Echo’s time in the Grand Army of the Republic taught him to be wary, to not get easily baited by enemy forces — but to go on this mission without mutual trust would be suicide. Reluctantly, he lifted his helmet off his head, and what greeted him was a rush of fresh air that wasn’t his own recycled breaths, and a reciprocal smile on your lips; a pleasant, amiable surprise.

“Happy now?” the clone muttered in defiance, a renegade grin threatening to break his cold facade as he begrudgingly admired your mettle. 

“Absolutely,” you replied, satisfied, “Now, put your helmet down, and let’s get to work.

Echo didn't know if you could be trusted, but this temporary cordiality was just as good a start as any. 


	10. Unguarded

The mass of weaponry that lined the nearby wall vibrated, as if filled with growing excitement; the clicking and clacking of metallic shells and covers demonstrated a feverish orchestra of apprehension. The ship’s insides shook persistently, such was the habitual descent into landing it. Man, in cadence with one another, saw to it that their hands possessed the aforementioned armaments, routinely giving their weapons a once over to ensure their functionality. You watched, with a green, envious stare, for no matter which way you looked, everyone on board was packing — be it a blaster, or a trusty lightsaber.

“Where are _my_ weapons?” you pressed, insistent on not being counted the outcast.

“You, uh, won’t have any,” Rex spoke after a short, awkward silence that bred from no soul wanting to cause your distemper. The decision was clearly not his, and so you tore your eyes away from him and toward the Jedi.

“You don’t seriously think I’m comfortable walking around without a weapon after what happened on Coruscant,” you argued. “And I thought I proved myself more than capable of wielding _something_ — hell, _anything!”_

With confidence, General Kenobi spoke.

“My apologies, Agent. Perhaps, when you are formally inducted, you’ll have your own standard regulation blaster. For now, it’s safer for us to have you unarmed.”

Anakin, in all his intolerable manner, shrugged at you, even if he had deemed your ability passable just a few days ago. “Sorry — maybe next time, _rookie_.”

“Just stay close to us, ________. We’ll make sure you’re protected,” Ahsoka gently smiled your way, in an attempt to calm your frustrations.

The thought of having to shadow their every motion without participating in battle was humiliating to you. You once commanded men and women alike, rallying troops under your wing; the mere swing of your arm was power enough to inspire the feet of lieutenants and soldiers to move toward the heat of combat. And now, you were reduced to a _tag along_ — forced into submission by your current conspiracies. 

No, you couldn’t exactly tell anyone who you really were, where you’d come from, and that you were Force-sensitive. You resentfully swallowed your pride; the utter helplessness of it all mounting within you when everyone left the equipment room to be briefed one last time at the ship’s entry ramp. There was no time to wallow in pity, for each second that you remained distracted, the likelier it was that you would lose concentration, and reveal your true nature.

Hovering several meters above the ground, the ship’s thrusters began to sputter to a slow; the descent being handled by a droid up front. You and the handful of clones listened closely to the three Jedi that stood closest to the exit, spearheading the operation. Whilst they spoke, all you could think was, _‘So, this is what it’s like to be on the other end’._ You were used to doling out orders instead of taking them, so you wondered if you could execute them well, and without fussing.

Trancret’s day and night cycles were slow, so it was a big help that it had just turned to dusk upon entering its orbit, and was finally dark enough upon contact. Getting past the dimly lit hangar would prove to be no problem, but through a small bay window in the ship’s exit, the lot of you noticed your target — the Separatist cargo starship — in close proximity to a human Trancrete, ticking off and accounting for various crates and chests that had freshly planted themselves on solid ground. Save for maintenance and patrol droids, there seemed to be little life during these darkening hours — such was the safety of night.

“We’ll have to find a way to distract the receiving supervisor,” Obi-Wan said.

“Leave it to me,” Anakin answered, seizing the opportunity to scout ahead before the pack.

“ _Please_ tell me you’re not going to do anything rash,” begged the older general.

“Do I ever?”

Obi-Wan and Ahsoka exchanged knowing glances as the ship ramp began to tilt forward, lowering into the ground. As the door fully opened, the two remaining Jedi eclipsed themselves in shadows casted by various boxes in the ship’s hold — the clones mimicked this, and you followed obediently after, taking cover behind an inconspicuous, metal box. From a distance, you watched Anakin as both him and the shipment supervisor converged on the point directly in between your ship and the Separatist ship of interest.

There was no point in trying to make out what the conversation between the Jedi and the Trancrete consisted of, but it was within a quick minute that the supervisor left, followed by Anakin waving over the rest of the squad. You looked over occasionally at the two clones you’d gotten to know recently, crouched close by. Rex and Echo’s focus were unwavering, not sparing you a glance.

Under the cover of night, your group made haste toward the ship, posture hunched and reduced, avoiding the litter of patrol and maintenance droids scattered across the hangar bay; the endeavour spoke more to the avoidance of any human you may not have spotted, rather than the circumvention of robotic presences.

The clones, Obi-Wan and Ahsoka treaded lightly past Anakin. When you reached him, you whispered quietly.

“What did you tell him?” you questioned curiously.

“That he wanted to take a long, _overdue_ break, because he absolutely deserved it — and that we were sent in place of the ship’s owner to take the shipment to Aargonar,” he smirked. 

_Of course_ he would resort to mind tricks. You wouldn’t have expected anything more from someone so impatient.

You and the rest of the team snuck aboard without a hitch, and the bay doors whirred to a close. The minimal lights glowed a dim red; so dimly lit were these lights, that it was a mere formality for them to emit any light at all — the assumption was that it had been so because there was no one else on the cargo ship. When the last soldier slowed to a stop, a rewarding silence greeted your ears, one plaintive of routine footsteps and idle chatter.

“Good, none of their crew stayed behind,” Anakin noted.

“I wouldn’t speak so soon,” hushed Obi-Wan. “The pilot might’ve stayed behind to—”

A sudden drop unhinged your footing. Your arms assumed the role of counterbalancing your body; the unexpected rumbling of the ship caught you off guard, arms jerking further apart from your body than usual. The unmistakable sound of the revival of a ship’s engine, and the summoning of fuel in its thrusters, meant a world of trouble for your little group. The rate of climb began to gradually increase, and the retraction of the ship’s slats attacked your insides with a heavy, sinking sensation — familiar to anyone who’d ever flown before.

“You _had_ to jinx us, Skywalker,” you muttered, accusatory.

“This doesn’t make sense—” he defended, “—the supervisor told me the ship was _unmanned."_

“It must be on a scheduled, automated flight control system,” Ahsoka supposed. “If that’s the case, there may be a couple pilot droids at the cockpit overseeing travel, and a few maintenance droids across the ship’s length, but that’s about it.”

“Something doesn’t add up — they would have had the shipment better protected than _this._ There’s no way they would have let it fly in the hands of droids if it were so important,” Rex said uneasily.

You considered the captain’s words, as did Obi-Wan.

“Whatever it is, we won’t know the scope of what we’re faced with until we reach the cargo hold and let Agent _________ open up the doors, granted that they’re sealed by the technology she’d mentioned,” General Kenobi inferred, ultimately putting in a pin in the guesswork the group had going on.

The lack of life in the ship unsettled you as much as it did Rex. Was this a trap? Or did the Separatists have something up their sleeve? Your brow furrowed as your mind swarmed with anxious assumptions. As grim as your situation was; being in mid-flight, headed toward Aargonar — even in spite of all of that, your squad still had the upper hand, one that wielded the element of surprise, for as long as you could remain hidden, quickly could the tides turn in favour of your mission.

“Ahsoka, head to the cockpit and take control of the ship — when you get there, call in a freighter — we don’t know how large this shipment is, so let’s accomodate for the worst,” the general in command issued, “Anakin and I will split up in search of the cargo. If it’s not in the hold, it’ll be in the supply hangar.”

“I’ll take the hold,” Anakin affirmed, leaving the last option for Obi-Wan.

“Very well. And take Agent ________ with you, for now. We’ll contact you if it’s on our end instead,” his partner said.

“You heard him, rookie. Let’s get moving.”

“Call me that again and I —”

_CLINK CLANK CLINK CLANK_

It wasn’t the time to bicker. The Jedi and their troop of clones froze like deer in headlights in wake of the sound of clashing metal on metal. _Patrol droids._ If there were anyone on board, it would have been wise to not alert them to your presence by rousing the droids under their command. Before you could even begin to think about moving, the rest of your group had already disbanded into separate foxholes. It was almost unfair how they acted first, after all, you were in the midst of exacting your wordy displeasure on Anakin. In the middle of the walkway you stood, turning helplessly to identify any crevices, any comfortable nooks you could possibly mould yourself into, before feeling a palm land roughly on your upper arm; all your muscle and fabric pulled beneath its grasp, hauling you out of the line of sight. 

Anakin breathed as shallowly as he could, as if not wanting to encroach on your space more than he already had. You stood face to face with him as he pressed your figure closer to his, for if he had given any more leeway, your body would have stuck out like a sore thumb to anyone walking by. His arms wrapped snugly across your back and his gaze shifted past his shoulder to estimate the droid’s distance from the group. This was neither the time nor place to react outwardly to Anakin’s bold gesture, so you remained silent, allowing him to shroud you as much as humanly possible.

As to whether your heart had been racing from the fear of discovery, or from the unplanned embrace, you paid that uncertainty no mind, as the softness of his clothes and the security of his hold casted a short spell of safety, possibly even comfort. When all was said and done, and the droid had strolled past unsuspectingly, Anakin released you, surveying for any sign of retaliation on your end — he was almost disappointed that you weren’t already lashing out at him. 

Admittedly, it was a novice mistake on your part to not hide as quickly as everyone else did. You let yourself get distracted, which was unlike you.

Just as you were on the cusp of thanking him, Anakin teased you, to your vexation, while the rest of the crew slowly came out of their hiding spots.

“Be faster next time. I can’t _always_ be there to rescue you.”


	11. The First Trial

Two human adults. No, two _and a half_. That’s how tall the door before you towered; its frame protruded around the sides of the entryway as a show of import. Such a menacing, _fascinating_ find to those unfamiliar to its secrets — but the sight of the ancient markings etched across the surface of the door only brought back memories of visionary ramblings and long-forgotten traditions of the Voss — your time there was uneventful at best; completely devoid of entertainment, at worst.

“Work your magic, rookie,” Anakin folded his arms. Captain Rex and two other clones gathered closeby. 

Ahsoka had already done the honour of taking control of the ship by disabling the pilot, maintenance and patrol droids — if only just for a while, until the shipment was transferred. Control would then be rightfully returned to the droids onboard and they would continue on course for Aargonar, with their memory banks wiped. Matters of espionage were always political; had the Separatists received plain evidence of Republic meddling, well, it wouldn’t have bode well for anyone. And while she manned the helm, General Kenobi was en route to your location, after Anakin had immediately commed him upon sight of the heavily sealed doors.

You heaved a weary sigh, stepping up to the door. In the clutches of a hole in the middle of the doors was a green orb; its glow inviting and warm.

“Right. This might take awhile,” you told them, “Just sit tight.”

“For _how_ long?” Anakin asked, narrowing his eyes at you as your figure lowered, knees to the ground and shins adjacent to the floor beneath you. You tucked your feet underneath you and brought your knees closer in; a position of worship and respect often taken to appease spectral gods. Anakin’s impertinence was beginning to part your focus, so you chose to ignore him.

A whisper, only audible to you and the source of power within the door, left your lips.

_“Neira Voss; rethsaam.”_

* * *

_Mists of yellow swirled on the far edges of your mind, encapsulating you and three other figures in a circular dome. Like a snowstorm coiling about the fringes of a long-gone settlement, you looked out and saw no life past the barrier of energy that trapped you with the other entities. Occasionally, a vicious, dark spike would whip at the dome, only to stagger back upon contact_ — _as if it were desperate to leak into the protective shield; as if its existence depended on it._

_In your mind, there was nowhere else. Standing before you, the ghosts of a bygone era would not allow anything more. There was only here, and now._

_You took it upon yourself to stand instead of kneel before the three Voss, who were elevated on a platform. The blocking of the scene played much like judges at their bench in court, except without a raised desk_ — _but so magisterial did they loom over you that you felt like you were on trial as suspect rather than defendant._

_“Honored one,” the Voss in the middle addressed you, in a dialect that hadn’t graced your ears in years._

_All of them were incorporeal in physicality. Their ghostly vessels faded in and out of sight; otherworldly and bizarre. However, the memory of their being was still fresh in your mind. Their skin, now inconceivable due to the Voss’ extinction, used to be colored a velvet blue, and their eyes, an ineffable, amber yellow._

_“A Mystic sees. The Three decide. The Voss, act. Your visions are at the root of all of this, honored one_ — _will you guide us?”_

_Thus began The First Trial: to weigh a Mystic’s words._

_The Mystics were believed to be prophets of the Voss people_ — _seers of their species, and healers that were non-conventional by human standards. You were fairly certain that they were a Force-sensitive race of people, which was reason enough for their ‘visions’, but the Voss knew not of this essence that made the world turn; this power that raised armies and sunk nations. For all intents and purposes, their visions were truth; totalitarian. It did not matter from where these blueprints came from. They were instructions to be followed, and never to be spurned._

_You responded to their question, in their language._

_“Yes — let us begin.”_

_“You have brought forth a vision of Voss-ka suffering from a plague. As you foretold, many have already died,” the man said. “Women and children; man and animal alike_ — _eventually, most will perish from this affliction — but out of torment, you have foreseen that we earn our fortitude. Voss-ka, hardened, are able to stand against the Gormak.”_

_The Gormak were sworn enemies of the Voss. Cruel and long, were the wars enacted between these two races. Having studied the ways of the Voss, you already know in which manner you should respond to this situation, but you let the umbral entities finish._

_A woman, beside herself with anger, spoke out of turn, “The humans of the Republic have offered a solution; a cure. Should we be so modest as to refuse this? Death is needless.”_

_“Silence!” another man next to her commanded, “You deny the wisdom of a Mystic.”_

_The first Voss, who assumed the role of their spokesperson, seemed to have anticipated this; a look of conflict formed from the quarrel posed by his equal. There is no vindication in this, and yet, the instructions are clear._

_“Many will die without the humans’ help. There is no doubt. We must follow the Mystics — through suffering, the Voss become vigilant in a future altercation against the Gormak. What would you have us do?”_

_Without missing a beat, you answered, as if having memorised the answer for a test; or rather, recollecting the answer to one you’ve already taken._

_“Let them die. We follow the vision. The betterment of the Voss is written in the fates — I will not deny this,” you bitterly agreed. Your adeptness in lying masked your underlying resentment. It is in the way of the Jedi to prevent oneself from acting on a vision, and the Voss methods were no exception, to your displeasure. How can one be expected to relinquish control; expected to be a spectator in their own lives instead of actually living it? How could they sit back and watch as their own people mourned over starved corpses and wailed for sustenance, or an end to their own lives?_

_The concept eluded you._

_After a moment of contemplation, the Voss nodded. “A Mystic’s words have weight. You understand. It is a sad truth: a Mystic must take to give.”_

_You looked out once more into the golden void. The tendril of darkness was now sprawled out against the dome, and the light that built it was fading under the burden of its thick, black essence._

* * *

“How long is this going to take, General?”

Anakin, with his arms crossed and shoulder leaned against the doorframe, looked up from your kneeling body, turning his attention toward Rex.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” he sympathised. Save for a few minor twitches, rapid eye movement, and slow, steady, breathing, you displayed no signs of awakening from your reverie. It was to their utmost surprise when you gradually opened your eyes, seemingly fine, only to sharply slouch and lose your bearings, collapsing to the floor. Captain Rex and Anakin moved at once to help you, but the former pulled back when he saw that the General had reached you first. 

You felt a short tug on your arm, and you noticed Anakin’s hand on you in attempt to lift you to your feet — but he stopped; you could see the cogs working in his head, to interpret the familiar feeling that he’d just sensed.

Quick to decipher this perplexed look, you uttered, “The Voss were a Force-sensitive people. It’s highly likely that you’re sensing it’s after-effects on me.”

“Right — the other explanation being that _you’re_ the one who’s secretly Force-sensitive?” scoffed Anakin. Now that his mind was at ease and accepting of your explanation, he followed through with hoisting you off the ground and to your feet.

“Would that be so bad?” you joked. You spoke with a wavering voice, still weak from your encounter with the apparitions in their realm. 

Anakin hummed, “Sure. _Unlikely_ would be another term I’d use.”

You may have been spent, but you could still appreciate the irony of it all, plus, his statement served as an unintentional compliment on your Force-cloaking abilities. Your head still felt heavy, delayed in response as if swimming in fatigue, debilitated by the stresses of experiencing the vividness that was the Voss Proving Grounds — but you didn’t forget your initial task. You strode back to the door, gingerly touching the orb as you struggled with keeping the ailment of vertigo under wraps. The sphere pulsed under your touch, emanating even more light than before, and within seconds, the heavy doors unlatched from each other, then divided by sliding into its frame, albeit at a snail’s pace.

The men readied themselves; they had gotten into position even without their General’s or Captain’s word. Well-trained and anticipating were the soldiers of the clone army, for who knew what lay behind this ancient Voss door, from over _three_ millennia ago?

A large — very, _very_ large, war droid — stood idle in the middle of the room; a lone spotlight amplifying its dominance over all other little trinkets and weapons shipments that sat in boxes.

The core hidden in its plating whirred, and it’s mechanical body came to life — as did dozens of other smaller droids.

Your gaze was redirected to Anakin’s hand when you picked up on the sound of his lightsaber unsheathing. Had you not put yourself in this position, you would be open to taking the front lines, but Anakin’s silent demeanour was enough for you to realise your place and purpose — to not be a _liability_ — because to their knowledge, you were neither a soldier, nor a Jedi. Even if you knew better; even if you knew yourself that you would merit the battlefield rather than tarnish it, you could not out yourself as someone who has had years of experience, not to mention the will of the Force behind you — not when you were finally making progress in your search for your companions.

You stepped back, indignant.

There was nothing you could do, except let them handle it.


	12. War Droid

Your instincts kicked into high-gear. Without hesitation, you dashed behind a nearby shipping crate, ducking away from the hail of bolts fired in your general direction. Rex knelt beside you, whilst the two Generals deflected suppressing fire with their lightsabers — General Kenobi had arrived just as the hold started to heat up with action, and like clockwork, he positioned himself next to his Jedi partner, falling into formation with Anakin.

The remaining clones eventually joined the Generals behind a crate a few feet away from you and Rex — the returning fire from the war droid had retained their motions, forcing them into cover.

The war droid stood erected at ten feet tall, maybe more; definitely no comparison with the doors that they were sealed behind. The rest were no mere droids, neither cannon fodder nor simple target practice. They subverted expectations in appearance: scrawny and spidery in their build, seemingly harmless, almost skittish in motion as they flitted to the front lines, protecting the giant droid — but _Rakatan Guardian Droids_ were not to be underestimated.

It wasn’t until the last minute that you’d recognized the make of those droids. The clones lobbed their ion grenades, traveling from their utility belts to across the floor. As the soldiers moved to assemble themselves having laid the groundwork for an opening, you held Rex back by stopping him; palm on his shoulder. The Captain glanced over; helmet shielding his confused expression, so you nodded back at the battlefield, prompting him to watch as the blast went off.

Both the guardian droids' and the war droid’s ray shields flickered under the grenade’s electrical discharge. It was only but _one second_ until they reinstalled themselves, leaving no trace of a systems failure.

“Their shields are a ray-particle hybrid — they don’t lower until the droids themselves run out of steam, or their defenses are overridden!” you explained, speaking loudly above the hectic noises that echoed throughout the large chamber.

A thunderous volley of gunfire drew out a collective flinch from your small squad. Bewildered, you strained to peek out of cover to witness the destruction the war droid was causing. An unpropitious cloud of smoke sizzled out of the crater on the side of the ship’s wall — it did _not_ bode well for this team.

“Look _boys—_ ” you addressed, turning to face the Jedi huddled behind the crate nearby, “—we can’t do this forever! If we don’t take that war droid down—”

General Kenobi shouted above the pandemonium, “We’ll draw fire from the smaller droids, in the meantime, _focus_ on finding a way to bring down their shields!”

 _Right_ , you told yourself. You’d almost forgotten you were not in command. Rex was on top of it; before you could even scan the room for any tools at your disposal, he quickly suggested, “Could you slice them?”

You searched with your eyes, scouring the corners of the room for any sort of station, an interface of _any_ sort. A terminal on the second floor stole your attention like a beacon in the night. 

“Cover me!”

Casualties were not part of your repertoire, so you refused to have any in your presence. Time was of the essence in relation to this, so you hauled yourself off the ground; leaving the group in your dust as you beelined for the stairway. The Jedi, in tandem with the Captain and his troops, leapt out of the safety of cover, laying down the law that acted as a bounding overwatch, reacting instantly to any enemy fire that targeted you.

You reached the terminal within seconds, almost having tripped before it. The floor shivered unsteadily beneath you as the war droid fired the daunting cannon once more. Thankfully, the men rolled swiftly out of harm’s way, but less can be said for the grounds on which they stood; broken scaffolding weakening the structure itself. One of the floor grates hung precariously, clinging on to dear life before it fell into the depths of the ship’s gaping wound.

From the second floor, you peered down into the hole in the ground, seeing all the way through to the floor below even this one. You needed to be quick; the ship wasn’t able to take much more.

“Is this droid _insane?!”_ Echo yelled angrily. Anyone needing to dodge so largely to avoid a missile would be just as pissed. “It’s going to tear the ship apart!”

“Whatever it is you’re doing up there, please _make it quick!”_ Obi-Wan hurried you.

“I’m trying!” you replied, back turned to the crew as you were already examining the holo interface up on the screen. “As soon as the shields are down, destroy the core under its plating!”

Bringing down those shields — _much_ easier said than done. Doubt gripped you by the throat and seized your arms, when you noticed that the wording on the terminal did not write itself in Basic, but _Rakatan_. So foregone was this piece of ancient history, that even the symbols that represented it were unrecognizable to you. You shook your head, exasperated at the sight of something you couldn’t understand — but the lives of others relied on your comprehension of it. You were in dire straits. If only you’d paid attention to when you actually _had_ the chance to learn more about them—

“Any _day_ now, rookie!” Anakin pestered from below, his annoyance growing when he caught you stalling at the terminal.

Randomly pressing buttons was just as good a start as any — it wasn’t like you knew what _anything_ meant — maybe just keep away from the big, red button. Or… _maybe_ that big, tempting, red button was the answer? 

Too late for second guesses; you pushed it.

The war droid rumbled tenaciously. You spun around, hovering over the scene of battle, waiting for a sign of success. Over the blanket of blaster bolts, you spotted a panel atop the droid’s head sink into its surface, and a larger, devilish looking cannon eagerly poked its head out the new hole.

“Uh, what is _that_?!” Anakin exclaimed, stepping backward.

“Er — sorry! _Wrong button!”_ you answered sheepishly, returning to the console to undo your error. After many malfunctions and untimely button presses (which, unfortunately, brought the men a lot of trouble, but thankfully didn’t harm anyone), your eyes settled on the last few that lined the bottom of the terminal. Tentatively, you sunk your finger onto the switch, toggling a partition of the shields. They flared brightly before dimming, and you took that as an indicative sign.

Okay, flipping these last two switches were likely to turn them off completely. You signalled the Jedi for the last time.

“Shields going down!”

As if calculated, Obi-Wan leapt off the ground and onto the war droid’s hull as the shields disintegrated, piercing his lightsaber into its leaden torso. The weight of the general’s body dragged the saber down, grotesquely dissecting the droid’s chest, scarring its exterior with a hot, searing line of melted gold. 

The droid reacted madly to this. In a state of taunted frenzy, it racked on the spot; metal arms thrashing wildly, whipping Obi-Wan’s body back and forth in order to shake him off — but he wasn’t going down without getting its hull half-opened. The general forced his weight even further down onto his weapon, and it slid toward the ground seamlessly. They now had access to its core.

You watched from the second floor, apprehensive. The clones were finally able to get through the smaller guardian droids’ shields, thanks to your unorthodox methods. At least it had worked before the war droid had a chance to blast yet another a hole into the ship’s interior.

Anakin wasted no time. His palm lashed out toward the war droid; fingers outstretched, as if grasping an invisible energy that circulated the surrounding air. When he yanked his arm back, the war droid’s hull crinkled; paper-like. You marvelled at his show of strength; how easily he willed the Force to do his bidding, and how he crumpled so easily the reinforced metal on such an advanced droid. The core burned a flush of red, and it waned for a fleeting moment — as if afraid. The young general displayed no mercy to the droid who had no soul, for just as quickly as he removed its plating, the core within had been crushed to bits by the Force.

The spherical core glowed a morsel of red before petering out.

One by one, the rest of the Rakatan Guardian Droids dropped, thanks to the work of the clones. When the clamour of droids died down, the mass of clones lowered their weapons; shoulders slumping, releasing the latent tension that they carried in them.

The two generals met in the middle, staring warily and the freshly downed being on the floor. It took them a few seconds before they finally deemed it safe to sheath their lightsabers. Obi-Wan slowly lifted his gaze at you, you who had leaned against the railing of the top floor with a shrinking posture and a diffident grin on your face, one that spoke volumes on how badly you felt that you’d taken so long to figure out the shields.

“I suppose we should thank you for your _shrewd_ slicing ability,” he smiled. Even in the roughest of situations, Obi-Wan never failed to maintain his humour, charm and composure.

The same couldn’t be said for Anakin, who accompanied his partner with an _incredibly_ sore expression angled toward you.


	13. M1-4X

“Looks like you didn't need my help after all.”

Ahsoka lifted her knees; feet stepping cautiously over and around the lifeless, metal bodies strewn across the floor. She made a note to avoid the large, cavernous hollow that divided the center of the chamber, eying it closely as she walked past the void — whatever happened here must’ve been quite the tussle.

“Do we have casualties?” General Kenobi quizzed the clone captain. Rex caught up with the three Jedi after having tended to his men.

“Just the one, General.”

You discreetly slunk back to the terminal that brought you much trouble; the very same one that was about to land you in hot water with at least one of the people on the lower floor. The inner workings of the starship droned in tireless, echoing waves, and the dull moan of the ship’s core travelled even faster and louder to your group, especially now that the physical barrier between the engine room and the cargo hold had been torpedoed wide open.

Weary and sapped by seeing combat, your eyes glossed over the holoscreen in front of you, deep in thought as you scrutinised the details on it. 

This whole operation just didn’t _feel_ right. This couldn’t have been all that was here. The war droid was, indeed, a formidable enemy (and would have been a valuable asset, were it not programmed to kill Republic forces on sight), but judging from how quickly it took to take it apart — this couldn’t possibly be all — not to mention, that the presence of archaic guardian droids was remarkably unusual. Sure, you’d been in charge of the security of said shipment, but you hadn’t an inkling that all of _this_ was tucked neatly away, behind the doors.

Was this all an elaborate trap? You fancied several guesses; mere shots in the dark: it could be a case of _‘two birds with one stone’_ — a predictable snare set by the Separatists to erase you and your Jedi company with one fell swoop. Maybe, this was a distraction of sorts; and if it was, what were they trying to snatch your focus from? Your mind raced from the possibilities, often double-taking to ensure that, _no, that couldn’t have been it._

You wouldn’t be able to know for sure, but the terminal in front of you, incomprehensible as it seemed, was likely to have the answer. 

You uttered a soft assurance to yourself; _you could do this,_ you just needed to lure that knowledge from the burrows of your memories, back to the forefront of your mind. Fingers floating over the keys, occasionally grazing the surface of the terminal, your focus riveted, as did your resolve; mind’s eye fighting to parse the words of a bygone language that fell credulously through the cracks of your subconscious.

So rapidly did your prying ears swallow your concentration whole, when you picked up on the chatter of Jedi on the floor beneath you. With what little energy you had to spare, you allocated your attention into halves, swapping between the task of decryption and the task of eavesdropping whenever you heard magic words _‘agent’_ muttered, to which your ears itched with insatiable curiosity.

“Before you start Anakin, I know _exactly_ what you’re about to say,” Obi-Wan chided. “Let me remind you that Agent _______ hasn’t given us any solid evidence to doubt her intentions. It would be wise to not make an enemy of her without clear cause.”

“Besides—“ Ahsoka promptly chimed in, “—she helped disable the war droid, didn’t she?”

“Sure, _leisurely,_ ” Anakin griped. “Almost like she had _no idea_ what she was doing, or she was doing it on _purpose_.”

“I can hear you!” you retorted, raising your voice. 

Anakin looked up at you, and yelled, “I know!”

Returning to a civil volume, he spoke more faintly to his colleagues.

“For her sake, I hope the both of you are right in your judgement,” Anakin stressed with the sincere belief that you could be serious about your renewed dedication to the Republic. For a long while, he’d been circling you like a hawk on its prey. If it were anyone else, he would’ve stopped by now — only, he couldn’t shake the feeling that you were still hiding… something. He didn’t know what exactly, but it was definitely _something_.

He may have been wrong about your loyalties, but he was undoubtedly right about the actuality of your secrets.

Back at the terminal, you heard a curt, low voice beside you, startling you slightly.

“Find anything?” a clone asked, inquisitive.

You scoffed miserably, returning his question with another, “Do, uh, ship blueprints count as _anything?_ It's the only thing I could decipher from this blasted terminal."

It wasn’t until the last second that you realised that you were talking to Echo, having just noticed his unique get-up, consisting of two sturdy pauldrons on each side of his broad shoulders, as well as blaster-proof guards hanging stringently across his waist — it was going to take some time for you to get used to the fact that all these soldiers had the _exact_ same voice.

Echo lifted his helmet off his head; forehead slick with sweat; visor blurred by vapours that emerged from the heat of his skin.

“Better than _nothing_. What’ve we got?” he continued, turning to face the console. 

Side by side, the two of you watched the holoscreen with fervent glares. It depicted the floor plans of the chamber you stood in. Seconds passed as you and the clone silently anatomised the map, perusing intensely the layout of the room — then you stepped forward; eyes narrowed at an inconspicuous room on the corner of the chamber layout.

The space within the room wrote: _M1-4X._

“Wait, where is _this_ room?!” you pointed out, almost a bit too excitedly. Echo’s gaze followed the direction of your hand and settled on the edge of the map.

“It looks like it’s on the lower floor,” he commented, “Strange, I don’t recall seeing a door there.”

On the brink of a revelation, your words trained you through your realisation.

“So that means…”

“A hidden room, maybe?” Echo finished your sentiment.

 _Jackpot!_ Your sudden show of elation caught him off-guard; your figure having almost hopped in place from sheer relief that this mission wasn’t for naught. _This must have been the childlike glee that Captain Rex spoke of,_ mused Echo. With an easy smile, he lifted his palm to calm you down.

“Alright, alright, relax, we’ll go check it — _hey!”_

Hastened by your new sense of purpose, you found yourself trotting down the stairs at a staccato; rhythm steady and true without skipping a beat. This easily drew looks from the troopers and the Jedi, watching you overzealously rush over to the corner of the chamber. When Echo finally descended the staircase, they looked over at him similarly, and all he could respond with was a shake of the head, paired with a confused shrug.

 _“Where is it?”_ you mulled, over and over. You stopped short of the wall, holding your arms out toward it to prevent your momentum from spilling past, almost running straight into it. The letters _‘M1-4X’_ reignited your drive, like a dry husk to a dying flame. Seeing that no means of entering this room stood out to you, your hands roamed the walls in search of a concealed button, panel, switch — _anything,_ really.

You heard light grunts to your right, and when you glanced in that direction, Ahsoka had leaned into a nearby metal rack that carried some supplies and weapons, pushing it away from the wall it stood against. Upon closer inspection, you managed to discern the floor panel underneath it; she must have noticed it before you did, for you were far too _delirious_ with excitement to have even spotted it. The rest of the men watched from afar. Ahsoka’s heel dug just before the panel; the tip of her shoe brooded over the square block that protruded slightly from the ground.

“Shall I open it?” she posed, and you nodded assuredly.

With a resounding click, the body of the wall, once thought to be immovable, recessed into itself, and parted open with a satisfying _swoosh._ Ahsoka waited for your reaction — but you simply stood there, immobile, hesitant, apprehensive, all emotions that she didn’t need the Force to even sense radiating off you.

“Something the matter?” Ahsoka asked, snapping you out of your short-lived daze.

You cleared your throat. In an attempt to convince her, you replied, “No — it's just a relief to actually have found something valuable."

Anakin and Obi-Wan, followed by Rex and Echo, arrived just at the time of your further explanation.

“Anyway, I’m fairly certain this is what they were moving; our _true_ object of interest.”

The small alcove brightened as you and the Jedi walked into it. This corner room, veiled from meddling hands, was bereft of any crates or boxes, unlike the large chamber it was connected to. It paled in comparison, in relation to the amount of weapons stored, but a lone droid sat in the middle of the room, soundless.

“A state-of-the-art battle droid,” you remarked. It stood still on three legs; two diagonally forward-facing, and one out the back; its arm hung by its sides and its spine was exposed — the resemblance to a destroyer droid was explicit, except that this model looked to be a much more reinforced, tankier version of its Separatist variants. A pair of red streaks vertically lined the forehead of this mech, and another patch of scarlet marked its chest, nigh above the hollow that housed his spine; a stark contrast to its body being a shade of white silver. 

Anakin, along with some of the troopers, ultimately weren’t impressed. It was difficult to be intimidated by something that almost matched him in height; the droid towering at only one head above himself. He fell in line with your figure, standing next to you. The marvel in your eyes perplexed him just as much as your existence did. Reluctant to break that wonder, he delivered his concerns with prudence.

“No offense, but this seems like a step down from what we just fought.”

“Trust me, General Skywalker—” you paused, unable to hold back your pride, “—you won’t find a droid _more_ capable.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for a 1000 hits, everyone! I hope you have been enjoying this story thus far.
> 
> We haven't had many intimate interactions with the cast just yet, but based on what you've read, which relationships with the Reader are you hoping will develop further?
> 
> Leave a comment below if you have any thoughts!


	14. Forex

_02:43 hours._

The two dots, equal in size, blinked on and off in unison on the display of your watch, hypnotic in tempo. The clone guards would not rotate shifts for another one hour and fifteen long minutes. Hopefully, that would be all the time you required to go to the storage and back, because being the first to activate that battle droid was a matter of life and — perhaps, not _death,_ but a long term of imprisonment — one you were unwilling to serve.

You gelled to a nearby alcove in a wall. A dutiful clone strolled past on patrol. His mind swirled with the idea of the glory one felt upon setting foot in a battlefield; a glory he would not experience for a while longer as he’d been stationed here in Coruscant, a city that always bustled and barely slept, but rarely saw blazing bolts and ruinous explosives in its streets. His occupied mind bode well for you, as you slipped by undetected as soon as he left your line of sight.

The headquarters transferred the battle droid you and the Jedi had recovered — M1-4X was its designation — over to a laboratory on one of the higher floors. Days had gone by, and word was, they had yet to figure out how to activate it. One thing, however, was clear to them — this droid belonged to somebody. They managed to extract the mech’s blueprints, making them aware of the security systems it had in place, but they did not know how to even access these systems.

Your affiliation with the Separatists gave immediate cause for the tech team to request for your help. You were in no place to decline, so you obliged by fumbling around with M1-4X’s controls, ignorant and almost incompetent in your attempt to revive it. Of course, it was purposeful; you simply did not want to activate it in front of anyone, for the knowledge that this droid held could evaporate any whit of credibility you owned. Your reputation was already a rickety, swaying house of cards, as it were.

With your insistence that there was no chance of the droid reactivating until its rightful owner came to repossess it, M1-4X was relocated, and its new home was a large storage hold, underneath the headquarters themselves — the perfect place to exact your infiltration.

It wasn’t long until you found yourself just before the durasteel storage doors. At least, they’d given M1-4X a larger room, based on the size of the entryway. An analogue console guarded the door; its mere presence goading you into slicing it, but there would be no complicated venture of the sort, when you wielded much more _intuitive_ tools. You waved your hand across the console’s display; gears turning and clicking to your bidding, undoing on its own accord.

Even though the doors parted wide open, you took one lasting glance that sweeped the area outside the room, ensuring that no soul lived to tattle on you. Then, you looked upward. Security was lacking in supervision in this corner of the building; cameras were nowhere to be seen. Only a second later did you realize why: they’d stationed surveillance inside the room, rather than outside it. You pulled yourself back from stepping in, just as you noticed discreetly placed cameras latched onto the concave moulding of the room’s ceiling line.

There was no obstacle too intrusive for you, especially now that you were free from the roaming eyes of anyone who worked under the Republic. Once more, you summoned the Force within the tips of your fingers, bending the direction in which the camera pointed, just slightly askew.

After tireless checking, you deemed it safe to step in, so long as you avoided the areas that were being viewed by the camera. Finding M1-4X wasn’t too much of a challenge. While there were a wide assortment of weapon knick-knacks around, bundled into boxes and sorted into crates, all of which were distracting, most of them were pushed aside in favour of the battle droid’s significance. M1-4X stood eerily still — a sight you were unaccustomed to — tethered to restraining cables and wires that stretched from a nearby control terminal.

You treaded lightly across the room just as the doors slid to a shut. Without further ado, you arrived at the terminal and began accessing M1-4X’s security systems. This current Republic was foreign with the software infrastructure of the battle droid’s old make, but you were all too familiar with it. Where they struggled, you triumphed with ease, bypassing the droid’s firewall and reaching into its failsafes.

_Enabling recognition module, please stand by for biometric scanning. A password is required for reactivation._

You turned away from the console to face the droid. A sheet of blue shot out from the battle droid’s eyes as it meticulously surveyed your features; its cone of vision spread wide to absorb all the physical information it could retrieve. The scanner scoped from the top end of your body to the bottom, then returned back up, completing its analysis.

You breathed deep, unsure if you were ready for what would happen next; the next word out of your mouth was the key to this battle droid’s resurgence.

_“Havoc.”_

_“Diagnostics complete. All systems operational. Unit M1-4X, reporting for duty.”_

M1-4X shuddered to life. The blue light that bled out of its eyes turned an intense orange, and within seconds, you and M1-4X both felt a long-lost sense of fellowship bubble rapidly to the surface, breaking down your facades.

 _“Master _________!_ The sight of a Republic hero brings me much relief!” M1-4X’s voice boomed; lifting his arms into the air with joy. 

You returned a willful smile, satisfied with genuine warmth.

“It’s good to see you too, Forex,” you replied in lockstep with his amicable aura, “You’re a real sight for sore eyes — but I need you to keep it down, alright?”

“My location scanners tell me that we are currently on Coruscant — Republic territory; surely one of the planets most loyal to our cause breeds no reason for the exchange of hushed words!”

Air pushes against your teeth, hissing between the miniscule gaps in them as you shushed Forex for the second time.

“Yes, we _are_ on Coruscant, but it’s not the location that’s concerning,” you filled the battle-droid in, “It’s the situation I’ve… found myself in. I’ll need you to dial it back on the volume while I work on bringing up some info in your database.”

His voice may have sounded at a lower volume, but his enthusiasm refused to linger behind, escalating even higher than before.

“Of course, Master! How I’ve longed to awaken once more to a newer Republic, one who has grown more efficient in striking down Imp scum. Even better to wake up to a fellow squad member, let alone the leader of Havoc Squad! No better time to seek out the Sith Empire and crush their inferior order of pathetic hedonists!”

“Forex—“

“My power core has been fully recharged, with full thanks to the Republic’s exceptional soldiers and tech crew. Only our men could be so adept at restoring my capabilities to their former glory. The Imperials will be no match for the Republic’s best! I am eager to work alongside these brave men and women once more, striking fear and regret into the heart of the Empire—“

 _“Forex!_ Calm down! Please, I know you’re keen on getting back to your duties, but I must know where the others are. According to their vitals, most of the squad is still alive and well, except for Vik and Zenith… their trackers have been deactivated," you worriedly said, speaking faster than usual. After all, the clock was ticking.

“Surely, you still have that data?” you requested, reading hastily the chart before you, the only info available being your team’s vital signs. Somehow, all the location tracker info was gone.

“Negative — those looting _scoundrels_ found me in the vaults and tossed me aboard their ship, overrode my systems, then extracted and deleted that information from my database! They even put their Imp-loving hands on me and _cleaned_ my hull! The mere thought of it is enough to break me! Had you not arrived in the nick of time, they were seeking to install…” Forex shuddered, before continuing, “... _Imperial weapons!”_

You shook your head at his disgust, half-amused and half-empathetic. 

“They managed to slice you, then? Impressive... so the Separatists wanted to make sure the Republic couldn’t get their hands on Havoc Squad’s whereabouts… I assume the rest of the team has been taken as well,” you muttered. “They must have the intention of using them as leverage."

 _“Separatists?_ Are they allies of the abhorrent, floor-sucking Imperials?”

“No, Forex — times have changed. The Empire no longer has standing in this era. I do not know if their order still has some semblance of authority, but I sense that they are not truly erased, as it happens, the Separatist Leader is a Sith. Once part of the Republic, they tore away from us, for their ideals were unaligned with ours."

“The fools,” he commented, “It seems that the Republic houses no shortage of traitors!”

“It appears that way, although, the people serving the Separatists believe their cause is just. It is likely that they do not realize they are pawns for the Sith in a much bigger game."

The Republic may have been the lesser of two evils, but that did not exempt them from corruption. When you stepped foot in the Republic, you were surprised to find the Jedi Council to be an integral cog in their ambitions; ambitions that sometimes reached too far, at the expense of everyone beneath them.

It was no wonder that the Sith took over the Confederacy, morphing them into The Separatists. They outplayed the Jedi and the Republic, converting the common folk's faith into contempt, and used that contempt against the authority that promised, and failed, to deliver on their idyllic notions of peace. 

They had brought this upon themselves, but you kept this opinion cloistered in your own mind, deeming your point of view too pointed to be said publicly.

“Regardless, I am ready to return to the front lines! There is no obstacle too great to maneuver for the Republic — the battlefield awaits!”

A dredging silence shattered the illusion of Forex’s certainty; a solemn frown painted your features as you extracted the tracking information from his database and into a spare holodrive you brought with you. You spoke as sincerely to him as possible.

“Forex, I’m sorry. I’m going to have to _wipe_ your memory.”

The droid greeted you with yet another length of silence, and you saw his shoulder platings drop by a fraction; your will disheartening him as much as it did you.

“Unable to compute — is there an issue with my programming?”

You assured him, "I… no, Forex, not at all. I will explain everything. And don't worry, your memory will not be deleted, just sealed away."

Tapping away at the nearby holoterminal served more as a distraction from your guilt. You absentmindedly moved the files over from Forex to your portable drive, watching listlessly as the lines of arbitrary numbers and letters zoomed past the screen.

You then retold the events of your awakening.

* * *

_Carbonite staved off hunger and thirst, preserved the internal workings of a sentient, and sealed age remarkably well - a show of perfect hibernation. The plan was always to awaken securely in the presence of either The Republic or the Jedi Council, cradled in their safety and sovereignty. Your mission was clear, bestowed upon you by the Jedi of The Old Republic — but like Forex, it was derailed when you unthawed early, to similarly unpleasant company._

_The irony of it all being that the first thing you were forced to do was bend a knee to a Dark Lord of the Sith. The man’s intentions were obvious: you were to be fitted to their mould, whipped and tortured into aligning yourself with the Separatists, and even worse, the Sith._

_You would not be accomplice to this. Naturally, the coward tormented you; for months, he scalded the surface of your skin, leaving trails of scabs in the wake of indigo prongs of lightning only a Sith Lord would conjure. For months, he would leave you without food, water and light, abandoning you to thoughts that eventually devolved into harrowing dreams. The Lord would instill in you visions and scenarios where the people around you would die horribly, and it was vital that it was especially because of your ineptitude._

_At first, you looked on with indifference. The famine and thirst doubled your delirium, then tripled when the punishments became harsher, as did the visions of your friends dying, visceral and crucifying. There was a tipping point_ — _then came the pleading and the begging for it to end._

_The soil was fertile with misery and sorrow as you caved; eyes swollen and bruised night after days and nights of torture and weeping, helpless and alone. He simply needed to plant the seeds of anger, and sow them when they turned to rage._

_Still, you did not yield._

_Until one day, the Sith Lord had in his possession, another carbonite container. The steel hilt of the lightsaber trained precisely onto its center, pinpointing the heart of a person within the carbonite. All he had to do was unsheath his weapon, and one of your worst visions would have come true._

_You knew the risks of the mission, but months of horror twisted your purpose. All you wanted was to have your people in one piece, unharmed and alive. No more death, not while you still breathed. Furious and saddened by your own betrayal against the Jedi, you begrudgingly agreed to train as a Sith Apprentice._

_You grew powerful, indomitable. You relished the lack of restraint, the unbridled passion that came with allowing yourself to feel more than a Jedi would ever let themselves. You did not deny this_ — _this sensation often caused you to steer afoul, skidding recklessly along the way of your original goal, often forgetting your true purpose_.

_Thankfully, your leash loosened before it was too late, before you were consumed by the Dark Side. The responsibility tasked to you of delivering the other shipments gave you the opportunity to make your escape._

_It led to your fateful meeting with General Skywalker and Padawan Ahsoka._

* * *

“My time with the Separatists already does not sit well with _any_ of the Jedi, their Council, and their army of clones. If the Republic knew of your origins, it would be a matter of time until they learn mine, and a matter of moments until they start to question the gap between then and now. If they discover that I was briefly allegiant to the Sith, let alone have been trained by one, despite my best efforts of resistance…”

You would all be incarcerated, and a second chance would not be likely.

“You know I would not do this, had I the choice, Forex.”

This clashed with Forex’s programming. He was wired to hate the Empire of The Old Republic, he despised Imperials and loathed the Sith. Yet, here you were, telling him that you _were_ one. Forex reasoned with himself. Surely, you did it for the Republic. You emanated no sign of ill intent, no dark side energy radiated off you. Your eyes displayed no sign of corruption, and as far as he was concerned, you were still sane and loyal to the Republic, and you’d only agreed to be Sith, just to turn quickly on them as you already have.

This was evidence enough in his eyes. Forex, patriotic as he was, was incredibly faithful to you. His doubt was fleeting.

“Say no more, Master! You have done a fine job infiltrating the Sith and posing as their apprentice. How preposterous of them to believe that the renowned Jedi Shadow of the Old Republic could ever succumb to the dark side,” he huffed with pride.

Your droid companion had complete confidence in you. Your heart warmed at this, but you knew this explanation will not go over well with your other companions. You decided you would cross that bridge when you got to it.

“Thank you, Forex. I will program your memory to bounce back through an automatic recall function. When you receive desired argument values and get an output that fulfills these parameters, you will regain access to your memory banks. Of course, you will still serve the Republic Army like the dutiful droid you are. You can start _tomorrow_ — how does that sound?”

“Positive — I agree with these conditions,” he affirmed, already processing the variables you were typing in addition to his base programming. “So long as I am still in service of the Republic, my purpose is fulfilled!”

M1-4X would not remember you, or anyone from your complicated past. Only by manual override and access, or when all of Havoc Squad is reunited, will he be reminded of the countless times he has ridden into battle with you, as well as the hours spent together on your starship _(often referred to by Forex as the ‘durasteel eagle’)_ , traveling far and wide to other systems, on many other missions.

You sighed deeply. You would see Forex the very next day, but he would not remember you. It only led you to wonder if he ever would — _Havoc Squad may not return in full,_ you thought, telling yourself that two of your team’s vitals had been deactivated. Your pessimism assumed the worst. 

You assured your friend, hoping that what you said next wasn’t an unintentional white lie, “Don’t worry. It’s only a matter of time until we find the rest.”

“Then all is well, Master,” he responded in kind, saluting boldly with his lengthy metal arm. “It was an honor being a member of Havoc Squad. I stoutly await the day that I follow your command once more!”

The irresolute feeling in your chest tightened as your fingers suspended above the button that would ensure Forex’s silence. You weren’t doing any harm to him, but it sure felt like it. With determination, you pressed lightly against the controls, smiling wistfully at one of your long-time allies.

“Goodbye for now, Forex. We’ll meet again.”


	15. Training Session #3

The dark of night mantled the surface of Coruscant. In spite of its robust weather systems, the capital found itself tinctured with gentle winds, causing its temperate climate to bow in favour of a mild chill. You shook feverishly from the draft puffing through the open window, feeling the effects of the cold upon your dampened skin.

Each step you’d taken toward the window was trudging and strained. You clumsily smacked your hand against the panel on the wall, and the windows answered by shutting automatically. Turning back around to face the room, you watched as the Captain placed his hands on his hips; his expression ample with wry judgement. The clone, too, having perspired just as much as you did, donned a loose training shirt; black in hue and synthetic in fabric.

“Tired already?”

“Don’t you _ever_ take breaks?” you groaned, sliding down the wall opposite the man and landing on your behind as soon as you hit the floor. Your attempts to subdue your gasps did not fool him. Rex’s combat training was rigorous, and even you, a trained lightsaber wielder and force-user, could not deny it with your being.

The day after your rendezvous with Forex, the Admiral sent for you, and you were to gather in the briefing room to discuss open opportunities with the Republic. This was no Jedi matter, so the minutes were attended by only admirals and officers of the Grand Army. You recalled sitting at a large desk lined with men and women on each side; their jurisdiction over this case made you painfully aware of the gravity of your situation. A Separatist defector was not to be taken lightly, and rightfully so. You also remembered the feeling of unease and nervousness palpitating through the ridges of your spine; stiff with unending dread.

You were unusually insecure. Having one’s fate in another's hands would do that to a person — but you had almost overlooked the forgiving nature of Republic citizens. Too long a time, you’d spent in Separatist company, when you expected their committee to chastise and expel you from any form of duty, only to be astonished that they practiced tolerance, and instead, gave you new purpose — conscripting you as their new field agent and intelligence operative.

That moment of jubilee was quickly smothered by Admiral Yularen insisting that you had to take mandatory training and exams as a formality. You groused at him, unafraid of the discretional stares the committee members were giving you, as you’d felt almost insulted that you had to go through this remedial procedure; you knew _damn well_ how to fight, and you didn’t need anyone’s instruction _again._

There was little room for argument, especially when the meeting had been interrupted by a wheezing officer bursting into the briefing room, rambling on about how the recovered battle droid had suddenly become active and was roaming down the halls, screaming its head off for _‘further instruction to decimate the Empire’._ You suppressed a humorous grin; Forex always knew how to make an introduction.

That was that. The recruitment drive cycle for Republic Operatives _(that weren’t clones)_ had just ended, so their instructors were given shore leave. Alternatively, you were given the honor of being trained by the one and only captain of the 501st Battalion, and for the past three days, the exercise was simply _exhausting_.

_“Up.”_

You glared daggers at Rex.

“I’m no _Corellian Hound_ ,” you replied irately. “I don’t respond to single word commands.”

Rex folded his arms at you.

“I _expect_ you to keep up. These extra hours are your punishment for coming in late the third time this week,” he advocated for the harshness of your penalty.

“I’m _dying_ here, Cap,” you pretended to choke; arms quivering as they stretched out toward him, throat gurgling and body going limp when you played dead. Rex’s tired stare shot up toward the sky: if there was a higher power orchestrating his fate, then why, maker, _why_ did they put him in charge of you? 

He liked to bellyache about what a pain you were to deal with, but a small tug at the corner of his lips said otherwise, when you managed to draw a modest smile out of the man for looking and being absolutely ridiculous.

“Look, you _want_ to be prepared for your exams, right? Then train for actual combat,” he suggested whilst walking toward you. “The real battlefield doesn’t care where you come from or how old you are. If you lag behind, you pay the price. I’ll take a break when I’m dead; you should apply the same to yourself.”

“Needlessly _grim_ pep-talk for someone who was only five minutes late,” you commented dryly, taking his hand as he’d just offered it to you. You hoisted yourself up; center of gravity pivoting forward as you pulled. The muscles in Rex’s forearm tensed as he steadied his body, ready to counterbalance your weight with his. He did not notice the lack of space between the two of you when you came to a stand; the adrenaline rush from your training session together was likely to have dulled his perception of personal space.

“Let’s get back to it,” he ordered, your hand still in his. “Now, you’re good with a blaster—”

“Why, thank you, Captain. I bet you say that to _all_ the ladies,” you joked, squeezing his hand once before releasing it. You walked over to the training mats and turned back to be greeted by a man who was in the midst of deciding whether he should be annoyed, flustered or flattered by your words; the amalgamation of all three causing him to blush at your insinuation.

“What is it?” you asked.

“... I, uh, forgot what I was about to say.”

“I know what you were about to say—” you claimed, “—you’re going to say that I’m good with a blaster, but in hand-to-hand combat, I’m overconfident when I realize my enemy’s weakness. That I overcompensate, always trying to prove my leverage and capitalize on potential openings in a fight. That I never stop looking for direct avenues to dive into, so long as I can strike my opponent, fast and hard. You’ve been droning on about the same thing for the past three nights, Rex. Tell me something _I don’t know.”_

He paused, looking to meet your demands by searching for an answer himself. He had watched you train for hours upon hours.

“You _can_ be patient. When I watch you go through combat simulations, you always start off on the right foot; incredibly calm and collected. As soon as you expose your combatant’s vulnerabilities, or distinguish the triggers that bait them, it’s almost as if... you lose all sense of _self.”_

You listened to Rex more intently; eyes betraying the curtain of lies that cloaked your being — a flicker of regret glazed over. The unquenchable bloodlust within you echoed the side that you were trying hard to oppress. You enjoyed taunting your enemy, enjoyed letting them know that you were laying in wait of the perfect opportunity to destroy them. It provided sustenance for your ego and your confidence; an ever-growing problem since your encounter with the Sith.

Every time you hurled that bottle of wickedness back into the void, it would come back stronger, ravenous and voracious, wolfing down all the parts of you that kept you honest and whole-souled. The Dark Side called every time you resisted.

“What I’m trying to say is: your recklessness makes you _predictable_ ,” Rex observed, and it was only thanks to his keen eye that you noticed this new development in the way you fought. When did you forsake caution and foresight for quick brutality?

You would try everything in your power to deny the darkness of your person, even if it meant needing to admit your mistakes.

“... You’re right, Rex. Let’s go one more round.”

You and Rex began to spar. With safety wraps around your balled fists, you held back no punches; he spared you no expense. You made sure to keep your hands at the level just beneath your eyes, reading Rex’s movements down your sights whilst shielding your face from his blows. Seconds passed, and you spotted a generous gap in his defenses. He noticed the eager glint in your eyes as you feinted left to expose him further, only to immediately attempt at sinking your fist into his rib.

Rex snatched your outstretched arm and pulled you toward him. As you lurched forward with no sign of stopping, he pivoted around you, positioning himself behind your body. He fitted his arms tightly around you, and placed you in a suffocating hold; your upper arms twitching under the immense strength of his vice-like grip. You flailed against him; agitated by his gruff, low voice that dripped with superiority.

“There you go again — heading _straight_ for the kill after volleying for — _argh!”_

You had brought your knee to a high and pushed your leg down with all your might; crushing his foot underneath your heel. His clutches came part; Rex’s arms retreating for a quick moment of recovery. You took it upon yourself to run your elbow into the core of his robust torso, and that caused him to sharply stagger backward; a sight that thrilled you and invited you to attack once more.

With lowered defenses, you darted at him; whites of your knuckles paling even further as your fist drew back to saddle force. The ethos of pride sprouting within you fueled your crusade for victory, and while you found this new source of energy to be empowering, it was clear to Rex that you had gotten ahead of yourself. He quickly, and unexpectedly, gained his bearings, and struck you first on instinct, sending his open palm roughly into your midriff. You stumbled back, and he dropped low to the ground, sweeping his leg under your faltering figure, forcing you onto your back.

He hadn’t forgotten that you were training. He knew better than to _punch_ you outright — but the one thing he _did_ forget was the healing wounds dabbled across your stomach.

You swore fiercely as you landed with an ignoble _thud_ onto the training mats. Your shirt lifted ever so slightly, revealing the injuries beneath.

“Damn it, Rex—” you cringed, hands hovering gingerly over your wounds, almost afraid to touch them, “—I just got these restitched yesterday! Dr. Kalonia is already pissed enough…”

 _“Kriff,_ sorry,” he apologized, taking place beside you to check if you were okay.

You sighed, “It’s fine, the stitches have already torn apart at least _three_ times.”

Rex raised a brow at you.

“The burns haven’t been taking well to the bacta gel. The wounds have been blistering, and they lacerated recently. Dr. Kalonia told me to stay out of action, but… I guess I got caught up in my little fight with Skywalker, then twice more in our past training sessions.”

“You shouldn’t be so impatient,” Rex scolded. “You’re not going to get anywhere with your training, with half your body ruptured like this. You should have said _something!”_

“I’ll be fine, I’ll just make sure the stitches haven’t come undone. Besides, it’s like you said: the battlefield doesn’t care for me, or my shortcomings. Rest when you’re dead, right?” you smirked.

Rex muttered, looking at the cocky grin on your face, _“Stubborn as a bantha.”_

“Learned from the best,” you poked fun at the captain. “Get me a kit, will you?”

Reluctant to feed your hard headed attitude, Captain Rex hesitated for a second. He’d wanted you to know that he didn’t approve of your adamance, but it would have been unkind of him not to lend a hand. Eventually, he picked himself off the ground, as did you, and met you on the bench nearby the mats with a medical kit in hand.

“Did I hear that right? You _fought_ with General Skywalker?” he sat beside you, opening up the modest container. While you put your nimble fingers to work removing your old bandage, Rex unrolled more gauze from the medical kit.

“Yeah — it was absolutely _delightful.”_

He passed you the gauze as you cleaned the blood that oozed, luckily, at a slowed rate from your body. You lifted your shirt halfway, unembarrassed by the scars incised across your midriff. The both of you were adults, showing a little skin was no object of infringement. The dark sutures that kept two parts of your skin together held fast. You would have to remind yourself to thank Dr. Kalonia for always patching you up to the best of her ability.

“Skywalker still doesn’t trust me. Hell, I don’t think _anyone_ does, at least not fully,” you idly stated, not thinking much of the truth behind your words. 

“Can’t say I blame them. If I were you, and I had someone like _me_ come knocking at your Republic doors with timely convenience, I would’ve just sent me straight to a prison cell,” you feebly joked. “I guess I should be so lucky.”

Rex had been unusually quiet. You glanced up from your wounds to catch him staring at them.

“Those… don’t look right.”

The Sith left scars on you, scars you knew would never heal. Stamped on you like a permanent pattern, you ran your thumb over the tissues that overlapped over each other on the surface. The inflamed portions of your abdomen were bicolored in a distended red and bruised yellow. Every large dip and convex in the coat of your skin shot you back to the moment of its emergence, every sear and lash stingingly fresh in your mind; the memory of it made your heart drop and your blood boil.

“Hey, I paid full price for these scars,” you rebutted, keeping together your sense of humour, but a small hitch in your throat balked from remembering the pain you’d felt for many months.

“Sorry — I just meant that, whoever did this to you, and whatever you had to go through to get here today — well, I’m just _sorry._ It’s not easy having to carry that pain around.”  
  
You smiled kindly. The consideration was an unanticipated, but welcome surprise.

 _“Thank you,_ Rex. It means a lot, coming from you.”

When you finally wrapped up with your weaving, he stood up, gazing down at you with unspoken regard. He felt like he’d understood you a little more, even if there was little to no exposition in terms of the origins of your trauma. That was a conversation for another time, maybe for when the two of you got closer — which you inevitably did.

“Get some rest. We’ll start bright and early tomorrow again, but this time, we’ll take it slow.”

He picked up his gear and strolled toward the exit. Your dialogue had more or less concluded, but you couldn’t help extorting one more reaction from the clone.

“And if I’m late again?” you tempted. Rex returned your smile with another. 

“I’ll see to it that you’re thrown into a Republic jail cell, first thing.”

 _“Jackass,”_ you scoffed, and he chuckled in response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! The next ten or so chapters from here on, will focus on Reader's relationship with the crew, then we will launch into the first story arc. Please enjoy!


	16. Sleeping In

The troopers avoided you like the plague. Sufficient enough that you were not one of their own, you had been marching stoutly across the building’s halls, as if on a self-proclaimed warpath, that in itself was enough to deter them from selectively being anywhere near you. Your shoulders sheared away from the shoulders of others who dared to block your tirade of angry stomps. Like two polar ends of a magnet, you repelled anyone from touching you as you walked past quickly, dodging their figures effortlessly. One would have gone as far to say that your acrimony acted as a conductor for your quick reflexes.

The Captain had delayed you for an hour. The lesson of his lectures dulled, the moment he chose to make himself the exception. For all the _shit_ that he’d given you for showing up late, you best believe that you were going to bristle your feral coat of distemper at him and chastise him for his tardiness.

The words were ready to start flying out of your mouth as soon as Rex’s office doors slid open, and even if he had a palisade of arguments built and ready to defend his lateness, you were not going to accept any of it.

“Rex, _you son of a —"_

The automatic doors closed behind you. The blonde rested his head on the surface of his table; his figure shadowed by two tall shrines of datapads on either side of him. His response was one of stone, immovable, and his head was swimming in fatigue, having been submerged in a lofty body of work. This exhaustion muted all his senses, especially his hearing.

The Captain was out cold. You took this as a safe indication; the click of the door did not wake him, so footsteps that did not echo, would not stir him. When you eventually planted your feet firmly next to his desk, you peered over his shoulder and at the datapad loosely nestled in his limp hand. Particulars of fresh recruits were written across the screen. This page format repeated itself across all the other datapads on the table, stacks on stacks of them waiting their turn to be perused.

The fool had worn himself out stretching himself too thin. You tutted softly at him, directed more at his ever-present hypocrisy, rather than the dogged clone himself, who was sound asleep like a baby.

“Always telling me to know my limits. Seems like _you_ have none of your own,” you muttered righteously to yourself — the lengths a clone would go to fulfil his purpose, to not let his generals and admirals down. He would do no good in this state of tiredness. You could tell he was running on fumes. 

Once every few seconds, he would quiver in his shoulders. He’d set the thermostat to a low. For the life of you, you couldn’t find the controls. 

Rex was a tidy clone. His office was kept neat. So, when you set out to find something to cover him with, you had to resort to skimming through his cabinets. The sound of metal raking across a rod would have squalled with every large motion, so you thumbed through his hanging blacks instead of dragging them by their hooks, careful to match the volume of a rodent, keen on not getting caught by a drowsed feline. 

A very distinct scent wafted to your nostrils. The softener imbued in the threads of his garments freshened them and likened them to be brand new. You denied yourself the distraction as you caught yourself wandering at thoughts that served no real purpose. You pulled out a length of cloth — you had no idea what this was used for, for it was far too thin for it to be used as a blanket — but it would have to do.

The sheet of fabric, with the touch of a feather, rose the hairs on Rex’s arms as soon as they came into contact with his skin, and this made you pause tentatively. The captain roused marginally, and you froze with your hands lifted above him like a half-done canopy. However, his movements melted into the touch of the cloth the closer you got, and he ceased into stillness once more. Upon your successful venture, you smiled affectionately at the sight of him sleeping; a weary soul rewarded with long rest was one of the most satisfying things to witness — it was to this decree that you often saw yourself helping others in hopes that you could give them a moment’s respite.

Rex worked hard at everything he did. You couldn’t stay mad at him for trying to juggle his responsibilities. Your insistent frustrations absconded into mist, and you no longer wanted to flog him for his lack of presence at today’s training session.

Very quickly did the sound of footsteps outside take precedence over your contentment. You tiptoed briskly to the door, wanting to intercept the commotion before it provoked Captain Rex’s consciousness. With a prompt _swoosh_ , the doors open and closed behind you, and you found yourself face-to-face with another clone trooper.

“Can I help you, soldier?”

The clone looked visibly confused, even with his helmet on.

“Agent ________ — I wasn’t expecting to see you here, least of all coming out of _there.”_

Your head titled rightly. It was when he removed his helmet, that the clone’s unique triangular pattern on his armour and voice of familiarity jumped out at you.

“Ah, _Kix._ Nice to see you again,” you greeted amicably. “I trust you've been well— I haven’t seen you around the medbay whenever I dropped by for my appointments with Dr. Kalonia.”

“I’ve been on assignment, just got back a night ago,” he nodded. “If there’s nothing else, I need to see the Captain —”

Your arm shot out to the side of the doorframe, sharply blocking the clone’s access to the room behind you. Kix angled back, passing you a discerning stare as you clambered helplessly to a sensible explanation.

“Cap’s, uh, _occupied_ with a lot of documents at the moment. I don’t think bothering him is a good idea, unless it’s urgent?” you instructed in Rex’s stead. Kix raised a brow at you, deciding at the last minute to let whatever just happened for you to react with such haste, slide.

 _“Right…”_ he phased past the lingering stiffness in the air. “Medbay’s understaffed. Hangar just saw a ship full of casualties. I’ve rounded up every able body, but we’re still coming up short, plus Dr. Kalonia just got off her shift — thought the Captain might be able to route even just _one_ volunteer our way. It’s a long shot, but…”

You answered curtly, “I’ll gladly assist you.”

He blinked at you.

“Uh, I was thinking of more of, well, _one of us —”_

“I’m _ten_ troopers rolled into one,” you kidded. Kix humored you, amused at your almost confidence. 

“Oh, _really?”_ he prodded.

You assented, bowing your head in agreement, grunting a soft _‘mhm’_ at him. You were neither a medic trooper, nor a seasoned practitioner, but you were willing to say just about anything to let Rex’s sleep remain uninterrupted. Unbeknownst to him, the claim that you valued yourself at ten men was a half-truth, for he did not sense your force-ridden past and present.

“Well, alright then. I never turn down help. You won’t have to handle too much — just keep track of our inventory and our men’s vitals. Maybe I’ll need a steady hand here and there. That _challenging_ enough for you, Agent?” Kix proposed with a smug smile, painting a simple picture of what your duties would consist of upon the undertaking of a medic’s assistant.

“Lead the way,” you gestured, moving away from Rex’s office. You casted a relaxed glance at the doors, hoping that the Captain would finally give himself a much needed break.

* * *

The medbay was a tempestuous whirlwind of bandages and a firestorm of bacta mist. What was only two hours, held the elasticity of a whole damn day. The restless clamour of soldiers forging to and fro multiple medical stations was suffocating; metal armour, leathery pauldrons and kamas brushed briefly past each person as the medbay grew cramped and overladen with both attendants and attendees. Every moment you found yourself isolated in the storage room, scrounging for supplies at Kix’s whim was an actual relief; the runoff of individuals in the surrounding area was proving to be very confining for you.

There were often times where you had to yell over the ruckus of clones either diagnosing someone, or groaning in pain, to gather Kix’s attention from afar. The space between him and the storage was far apart, and the effort it took to worm your way back to him did not line up with the simple solution of just tossing what he needed directly to him. The whole affair resembled a circus. Soon enough, you found yourself simply manning the storage hold like a crow’s nest aboard a vessel, keeping an eye and ear out for the needs of the wounded, and hurling, with much care, their necessities to them.

You’d been in many chaotic combat situations in the days of The Old Republic — never once had you been in a chaotic _medical_ one. The pain of the soldiers around you taxed your mental welfare. It was not easy watching these clones suffer, especially now that you knew several on a personal level. 

It must have been doubly so for Kix, for they were his brothers.

Most men had the fortune of discharging on the day itself. Others were not as lucky. A few stragglers were left on their beds to recuperate, some of which were terminally crippled. Some did not even make it halfway to the medbay, before the life in their eyes fizzled out.

Eventually, the rest of the volunteers had to file out to prep for their assignment the next day — just as well, since you and Kix were tending to the last injured clone trooper. The shot administered to him had knocked him out, and the man quickly fell into a deep sleep.

The both of you wordlessly stepped back, and leaned against a nearby desk. You rested your palms behind you, propping your ragged body up, as the mind was far too jaded with strain and worry to even support your own self, let alone others. You felt Kix’s hand stroke your own unintentionally, but he, too, had expended most of his energy to really care. He left his hand where it landed, besides yours faintly.

“All this work must take a toll on you.”

The medic briefly noted your concern, continuing to watch one of his kind slumbering before him; chest rising and falling incrementally.

“It’s not too bad. The hardest part is never the work,” he admitted. “It’s when the work stops… _working_. When there’s nothing left you can do for them except wait, or let go.”

“I understand. They say the hardest part of loving someone— “ you suspended, sighing at the dreariness of today’s happenings, “—is the day you lose them.”

Kix did not deny this sentiment. What most clones took to be mostly respect and admiration for their brothers in arms, often evolved into companionship that sustained them. To claim that it was anything less than brotherly _love_ was a fool’s errand. The number of losses this war saw often tormented him, but your voice rang clear, snapping him out of his daze and absolving him of his guilt.

“They will be alright, Kix. They have the best person in the galaxy caring for them,” you promised, nudging him in his side in order to cheer him up, the same way you did the first night you’d met in the medbay. 

“Oh, and _you,_ of course,” you cheekily added, soliciting a due smile from him. You hopped off the table, picking up and tucking a small crate of supplies under your arm. Sluggishly, you headed back into the storage to tidy up all the provisions sprinkled across the rooms.

“Thanks for stepping up today,” he raised his voice for you to hear, while he cleaned the remnants of used patches off multiple trays. “Wouldn’t be half as fun without you pelting bandages at my head by _‘accident’.”_

“I had to get your attention _somehow!”_ you protested.

It was just about to turn dark. The mess hall would get thronged with troopers at a time like this. Kix had an idea, but an idea he wasn’t so sure it was a good one. Hell, he wasn’t sure if it was a half-way decent idea, but he was going to suggest it anyway. One-on-one time with a _Separatist_ seemed like an ordeal he would never willingly agree to, but one-on-one time with _you?_

No matter which way he sliced it, the prospect seemed, by all means, _fun._

Besides, he’d seen you about the mess hall before, and he knew from the demure of your posture to the elusiveness of your gaze, that you always felt uncomfortable and out of place within Republic walls. When you re-emerged in his line of sight, he pushed down the lump in his throat, quashing his mistrust whilst curbing his enthusiasm, unwilling to appear married to obligation, or overeager in his request.

“Look, I don’t know about you, but I’m _starved_ , and could eat a whole _bordok_. Dinner’s on me, if you want to take me up on the offer.”

“Treating me to the best field rations credits can buy?” you quipped with an easy grin, playfully teasing the medic with fond charisma.

“‘Course not. We’ll hit _Villynay’s_. Even _I_ can’t go so long eating slop here.”


	17. Villynay’s

A harmony of bells pealed overhead when your clone companion leaned into the doors. The sheer number of sights and sounds your person experienced on the way over to Villynay’s was mind-boggling. It had been awhile since you stepped foot in a cityscape, and the adjustment was onerous, but quick, like remembering how to ride a speeder bike.

Not everything was unfamiliar. Some establishments, you recognised for what they were — eateries, boutiques, pubs and bars — but it was the evolution of these things, over the years, that had become lost in translation. Fashion trends came as fast as they went; fabric twisting and usurping mannequins in ways you thought were strange. Watering holes stowed holoscreens, mounted on every wall that had space, and they were packed to the brim with patrons who watched eagerly a team of people kicking around what appeared to be a ball — this was a sport unclear to you as well. Lastly, what you used to remember as just canteens whose purpose was simply to feed and nothing more, became restaurants and cafes with personality and charm, each one fighting to stand out the most to every passing individual.

The war between factions in the galaxy, then and now, remained largely similar. It was the life of the common man that changed. As an onlooker from a remote past, you were quite eager to rediscover these new developments. You traveled from a time scarce of cultural innovation; how exciting it must have been to witness all this unfolding before your very eyes!

 _Villynay’s_ was no exception to the observation. This abode was not as lackadaisical as a diner, but it did not meet the calibre of a fine restaurant either. It was somewhere in between. You, however, had no method to your comparisons; these assumptions were outlined by instinct.

A peppery aroma flavoured the air; pods of Di’l spices leapt off the griddle under the influence of a burning flame, oil popping off its hot surface while it cooked raw meat. Your nose relayed to you these smells, but your eyes saw no guest appearance of food, until a Twi’lek waitress came out from one of the doors that led to the back, carrying two plates of meat sliders in each hand. The woman’s presence drew both your stares to her, and it was under the sudden attention that she thought to glance at the doorway when she walked past it.

“Be with you guys shortly—” the waitress addressed in passing, “—just grab yourselves a booth, will you?”

Kix tipped his head to the left, signalling for you to follow him to the free booth by the window. You followed suit; head pivoting slightly when you noticed two other clones seated at the counter instead. You and Kix sunk into the booth, seated across from each other. Sunset hues poured through the glass window, cascading the booth and everything in it with a titian, coppery light; the hours of the day ticking minutes to dusk.

“Didn’t know there’d be others,” you commented, looking over your shoulder at the clones, then back at him.

“Villynay’s is a clone haunt. It’s not too uncommon to find one of our own in here,” he acknowledged.

It wasn’t long until the young waitress circled back around with two menus in hand. With a courteous smile and neighbourly twang to her tone of voice, she greeted the both of you with a sociable ease.

“How’s it going, Kix? Another girl in tow, I see,” the Twi’lek joshed.

You sent a questioning smile toward Kix, to which he responded with an objective groan,

“ _Very funny,_ M,” he short-handed, and this caused you to glance fleetingly at her name tag. _Memah Roothes_ was the name of the Rutian Twi’lek. 

“Just the usual for me,” he continued.

“And you?” Memah asked as Kix lifted his menu toward her. With one hand on her hip and the other accepting the holomenu back, she awaited your order — but hardly did you have the time to even look at it earlier, before she’d come sauntering over.

“Whatever’s good,” you said unfussily, “What do you recommend?”

“The food or the clones? All the food’s good. Not all of ‘em clones are. But we’ve got a sixer and sevener at the counter, so you can take your pick,” she winked; no shortage of mischief up her sleeve. “Unless you’re happy with Mr. Medic here.”

Memah managed to extract a small chortle from you, and while her jape immediately gave Kix reason to glare at her with irritation, he couldn’t help but notice that, for the first time, he’d heard you _laugh._ His face eased and split into a small, almost unnoticeable smile. By all accounts, he and his brothers looked nigh identical, save for a few differences in facial accessories here and there. Memah’s vivid scale of attraction was based on her own experiences, so he couldn’t help but wonder if you held her ratings to the same regard.

You pored quickly over the words on the holomenu.

“Just some tarsh maxers and a black caf for me — thanks, Memah.”

She had gone as fast as she came, and once she delivered your orders to the chef in the back room, she went back to cleaning tables, bussing them and taking even more orders.

“I certainly see why _you’re_ a regular here,” you teased, watching Memah as she wiped the tables with long, thorough swipes. The woman was gorgeous, not to mention well-formed, and with her quick wit and convivial conversation, it wouldn’t take a person much convincing to come here often.

“You could say that for other clones, but I’m just here ‘cause she’s been good to us. Doesn’t kick us out when we get too rowdy. Doesn’t complain about how us clones deter regular customers from coming. As a friend, the least I could do is support her business,” Kix asserted. “And while we’re at it, I don’t have the time to be running around finding women to date.”

You recalled Memah’s quip about him bringing in other women, and you quickly refuted his assumption that you were judging him.

“Hey, it’s none of _my_ concern what you do in your downtime. Dates, flings, one-nighters; you’re only _human.”_

You weren’t one to preach. This was far from your field of expertise. You’d never entertained the thought of romance, of even familiarising yourself with the lifestyle. All things considered, you were trained not to. 

It was popular belief that the Jedi were not permitted relations, and while most of you acceded this will of the Jedi Order’s, it was but a technical law. In your time, you knew of Jedi who formed physical relations with others — some had the discipline and resolve to stay true to this law; reining their emotions in before they evolved into something more permanent and lasting. Others submitted to their passions, resigning themselves to more than they were allowed. The latter often lost their way.

In essence, the tangible aspects of romance; physical desires, were rare for the Jedi, but not unheard of. It was the phylogeny of love that was disallowed, when it blossomed into totality and bore emotional attachment. The Jedi were censured by its Code; an unfortunate embargo on the instinctual wants of the galaxy’s finest warriors.

Irrespective of this loophole, most, if not all Masters, always saw to it that this manner of conduct did not appeal to their Padawans. It was a fine line; a trapeze that teetered dangerously between the Light and Dark, to fool with feelings that could drive man to insanity.

“You sound experienced,” Kix interrupted your deep rumination.

You snorted, amused at the casualness of his statement. Who’d ever say that to a _Jedi,_ claiming that they were well-versed in the ways of love?

“What, me? No, no, it’s not our way.”

“Your... _way?"_

You’d been lounging too long in your own head that you replied, ironically, without thought. For the first time in a long time, you found yourself flustered. You scraped by, just barely, with a weedy explanation.

“The, um, _Separatist_ _way._ Their superiors would root out the unfocused and the distracted, and punishment was harsh for those who let anything other than the job occupy them. Romantic ventures were spurned, frowned on.”

The drinks had appeared before you without your knowing — it must’ve happened while you were floundering for an excuse. You cupped the caff with both hands, shoving your face into it. It wasn’t a regular occurrence for you to slip up so offhandedly, and the thought of it made you shut your eyes tight in embarrassment — _what a dumb thing to say,_ you thought, stewing in your misery.

“Well, you’re with the Republic now—” he confirmed, “—a free woman.”

_Free?_

You were free from the Separatists, and in turn, the Sith. You were free from the restrictions placed upon you by the Masters of The Old Republic, since they had returned to the Force, and you were free to go about a task however you pleased. You did not, however, feel free of your obligations to their visions. They had sent you hurtling through time, and for good reason — but to Kix, it seemed that being free did not refer to the ever-governing shackles of responsibility.

It meant being allowed to feel; a sort of freedom you’d never tamed. No — a freedom you’d never even deliberated, not until tonight.

You were, by all means, still a Jedi. It was, by your intention, decidedly so. The thought was amusing, but that was all this it was; a mere pensiveness into alternate fiction. Attachment is forbidden. Possession is forbidden. These were the covenants branded into your reasoning. And yet, somewhere, somehow, in the crypts of your mind that whispered sweet nothings to your conscious self, it asked, if love was something you yearned for, but never let yourself feel.

You’ve flirted, you’ve charmed — both things were fun, and often harmless — but you have never loved. You had never gone as far as to let yourself love. Love was no mere flirtation with fate. Love was not charisma in excess. Love was something else altogether, and it was something that you could not describe, even if you wanted to.

You shifted uneasily in your seat. You could feel a gate being opened, and this conversation had been the key to unlocking it. 

_Maker_ , why were you still entertaining the possibilities? You were a Jedi Master; this musing needed to be curbed, and taken off the table. Just as well, since the sight of freshly cooked food on the actual, non-metaphorical table aroused your hunger and jostled you back into reality.

You instinctively caught the reflection of the two clones from the counter in the texture of your silver mug. They were finished with their meal, and were about to be on their way, but they had stopped just short of the exit. You didn’t bother turning around, especially when you noticed their displeased stares at Kix. Your friend looked past you, shooting a dirty look their way in response. The bells tolled overhead once more when they departed, and Kix went back to his food like nothing happened.

“You didn’t have to trouble yourself, Kix,” you sympathised. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but I can look after myself. It’s not as lonely as it looks, and the last thing I want is the rest taking digs at you for your choice of company—”

 _“To vac with them,”_ he remarked, then smirked at you. “It just means I don’t have to _share.”_

The urge to grin was overpowering. You casted a downward glance; a coy smile appeared on your lips as you felt a light flush of heat travel up your cheeks — but you refused to let this moment of weakness throw you off your habitual repartee.

“So, I’m _yours_ to share, am I?”

“Oh, uh, well, that’s not what I meant to imply…”

“Relax, Kix. Just messing with you.”

You mouthed whole a piece of tarsh maxer that had broken off from its larger half. A satisfied noise escaped you; midway between a hum and a whine.

 _“Surik’s blade_ — this tastes amazing,” you munched in between words. “And the smell…”

“You’ve never had tarsh maxers before?” Kix asked.

“Never even _heard_ of them.”

“Then why—”

“Just thought it would be nice to try something new,” you interjected amidst his inquiry, predicting his disbelief as to why you’d order something you didn’t know with such familiarity.

You would associate tarsh maxers with your newfound sense of freedom; the liberty at which you exercised your affection for others, regardless of its nature, romantic or otherwise, forevermore.

Your portable comm device blipped abruptly in your pocket. You tossed a quick apology toward Kix before rummaging for the device and pulling it out, placing it on the surface of the table. You’d expected this call. The spectacle that was one miffed Captain popping up on the holo display made you uppity with impish smugness.

“Morning, _sleepyhead_ ,” you greeted.

“So you _were_ in my office,” Rex’s voice crackled to life through the comms. “And you didn’t think to wake me? You should’ve said _something_ — I missed half a day’s worth of briefings, monitoring infantry training, sorting through new recruits—”

You mimed Rex’s incessant complaints to Kix with extravagant gestures when Rex himself paid no attention, being far too absorbed in his own ramblings to notice. The clone across from you chuckled deeply; he’s had to face his Captain’s listless rants before; this was a shared experience between most under his command. Not all had the gall to mock him so openly, and your doing so tickled him.

“—slept through comms transmissions from troops stationed offworld, at least ten officers were asking after me; messages that went over my head, not to mention your training session—”

“I sincerely hope that that’s the sound of you blaming _yourself_ , Captain,” you firmly said. “If you’re implying that your little siesta was _my_ fault, _I swear to the ancients…”_

Rex ran his hand through his short hair.

“No, you’re right. Just can’t believe I let myself doze off like that.”

“Let this be a lesson to you. Don’t bite off more than you can chew, lest you overburden yourself as well as others,” you told him. The Jedi in you still leapt at the opportunity to bestow lessons onto others; no matter how lax you were with formalities _(thanks to your acquaintance with Havoc Squad)_ , the manners and teachings imparted to you as a child never faded.

The Captain paused for a brief moment before speaking again.

“We should still squeeze in a practice session; day’s not over yet, we’ve got time.”

You lamented, gazing past Rex’s projected image to gauge Kix’s response. Needless to say, he wasn’t fully tuned into your conversation; the man was exhausted beyond imagination.

“I don’t know, Captain — today was… a _lot_ of work. I’m just now grabbing a bite with Kix. It was a hellish shift at the medbay.”

“With _who_ now?” Rex asked — he’d heard what you said, he just wasn’t sure that he believed it. 

“Kix. He came looking for you but he got me. I’d say it was a fair trade,” you said. You and the medic shared tired smiles.

“Right — I just saw the numbers. Medbay was understaffed again, I take it?” asked the Captain, arguably, just as burnt out as the two of you were.

Kix spoke up, “Yes, Captain, but Agent _______ did well to make up for the lack of hands. Perhaps she’d be more suited to medbay duty? I _could_ teach her the ropes. She’s still a shiny, so I’ll probably need to be more _hands on…”_

 _“Hah!”_ you guffawed. “Nice try, trooper.”

Rex folded his arms at the two of you, unsure if he had missed some context to all this clowning around.


	18. A Padawan's Day Off

When you weren’t preparing for compulsory examinations and psychometric tests by training rigorously with Captain Rex, or studying up and penning reports on Par Gunneas’ _Slicing in the Mind’s Eye,_ you were putting your decrypting abilities to practice in the War Room, alongside other junior and senior intel officers. All these extra hours you put into helping the Republic’s war efforts were accredited to you as additional merits; a shiny extracurricular to be added to your resume. 

When you weren’t attending to official duties, you could be found in your quarters, searching regularly for the whereabouts of your squad. This was your day-to-day routine, safe for the occasional anomaly; like stopping for a quick chat and bite with Kix and Rex, respectively.

That same routine pawed at your sanity. Tapping away at the holoterminal at the desk in your personal quarters, you released a breath that trailed for at least three seconds; tedium and chore literally wringing the life out of you with its repetition. You had taken some data back to unscramble from the comfort of your own room; curled up in your seat with a steaming mug of black caf; pure ecstasy. In the War Room, you’d been standing around, walking back and forth for quite some time, leaving your feet and lower back sore with an imperative ache.

You were good at slicing. You learned from the best. Havoc Squad had talented members. You were bound to pick up a skill or two from the people you willingly called _‘family’_ — but you never learned these things out of love for the craft, but out of necessity. There were many times that, if you were without this aptitude for technical engineering, there would have been many a situation in which the outcome would have been far from ideal.

Even then, with this base knowledge of polytechnics and tech sciences, some things flew over your head. You picked up things quickly; often noted to be a jack of all trades, but a master of none — though, ofttimes, _it was better than being a master of one,_ you thought. You knew not every single thing that technological artisans knew. You were neither a data engineer nor an analyst. It was only natural that your concentration would waver whenever you felt frustration while facing a line of text you could not parse. 

It was painstakingly clear to you, that you were out of your element. You were a soldier, a warrior, a Jedi Sentinel — not a desk jockey. Your patience thinned for a short minute, but you quickly remembered how ridiculous it must be for a Master’s tolerance to straw at the ends, at an inanimate object. You took this as a sign to step back — perhaps a walk around the premises would serve some much-needed reprieve. With a wide stretch, your back curved; air pockets cracking under the tension of your body’s pull, and you promptly left your quarters.

Halfway through your rounds, the call of a young Padawan energized you; her voice glowing with acknowledgement at someone she hoped to call a friend. You’d just passed one of the combat simulation chambers, but you didn’t fancy a peep. Surely, they would not welcome interruptions, least of all from the notorious Separatist agent, so it was purely coincidence that Ahsoka managed to catch sight of you walking by in the windows.

“Good afternoon, _Padawan Ahsoka,”_ you gladly recognized as you turned around, “What brings you to the headquarters today?”

“Captain Rex asked if I could look in on his troops; see how they were faring with their drills,” she told with fastidious repose.

 _“And?_ Don’t leave me hanging,” you pushed.

“Well-trained, as always—” she praised, “—I don’t expect anything _less_ from Rex.”

Ahsoka was quick to move the conversation along.

“What about you? I usually see you tied up in the War Room at this hour.”

You groaned; face in your hands, rubbing your tired eyes with your fingers.

“Usually, yes — but not today,” you mumbled; voice muffled into your palms. “I’ve had enough cyphers to decrypt for this lifetime. I’m in desperate need of a breather — and I’m hoping to find that as _far_ away from here as possible.”

The Togruta watched you empathically, noticing the wired strain in your voice and sagging of your shoulders. She gazed up at you — since you stood at a taller height then she did — with keen observation. The whites of your eyes surged red with malaise. She assumed that your path toward officiating your role was the main stressor of your worries; but it really was the fact that it had been more than two weeks, and you had little to no leads on tracking Havoc Squad.

“I was thinking to go for a longer stroll; perhaps go and see what _else_ Coruscant has to offer,” you recalled. In the days of The Old Republic, you frequented many planets, but Coruscant was not one of them — it had been a long time since you’d truly been on this perennial metropolis of a planet; wandering the city aimlessly, void of a destination. 

“That sounds nice,” she commented, “I haven’t done that in awhile, now that I think about it.”

“Would _you_ like to come with? Be my guide, so to speak?” you offered.

Most days, Ahsoka would have had an array of duties and tasks to fulfil. Today was not that day.

 _“Huh,”_ she hummed, drawing a blank. “I haven’t had a day off in a long time. I guess I shouldn’t be so surprised; this war with the Separatists has been relentless. I _was_ going to take this time to meditate; gain some perspective…”

 _“Meditation_ is not the only way to gain perspective, Ahsoka,” you unwittingly launched into yet another lesson you’d learnt as a Jedi. While you, too, adhered to the Jedi’s faithful onus to thoughtfulness, you also adapted to other methods of achieving insight. Your leading role in Havoc Squad kept your tact limber.

“Rest and recreation can recalibrate your priorities as well.”

The padawan furrowed her brow, thinking over your words. “What do you mean?”

“Take me someplace in Coruscant that you find yourself drawn to. You’ll understand by the time the sun sleeps on the horizon.”

* * *

Structured chaos was one way to describe your surroundings. Amidst a racket of squawking peddlers and enthusiastic vendors, you and Ahsoka stood before the wild of a crafter’s market; home to the middle-class’ small, affordable luxuries. Sheets of repurposed metal parasoled the walkways, casting shadows every which way the overhead lights deemed fit. The area was only partial to the system’s sun, this deep into the city’s lofty, impressive skyscrapers — hence the need for artificial lighting.

Coruscant’s Midcity was truly a marvel; not quite the pompous show of wealth as the levels above it, not quite the lawless underworld of the ones beneath — the Midcity exuded a sense of safety that was lukewarm. Judging from the sheer amount of passersby, it seemed like they knew it too. You observed keenly as citizens of the Republic filtered in and out of this market, speaking with each other with an immemorial fondness.

“A very _spirited_ choice, Ahsoka,” you surveyed, “I wouldn’t have expected it from you.”

“The stalls set up on the last Primeday of every month,” she stated summarily. “Their arts and culture district have vendors from all over come and sell their wares here; usually antiquities or artisan crafts.”

Ahsoka guided you into the fray; a tireless ocean of people. In vain attempt to avoid the townsfolk from bumping into you, you stuck close to the Togruta; the sleeves of your shirt daintily brushing across her shoulder when you needed to lean away from an ambling customer who was unwitting in spatial awareness.

Countless pieces of merchandise were on display, like a prideful pageant for their creators. Most stalls stemmed from a myriad of racial origins, making each booth strikingly unique. From Gungan jewellery and proclaimed mystical Selkath charms, to scavenged goods by Rodians and Toydarians, of, to your surprise, Human fantasy holonovels and Sith Opera collections — this marketplace was a potpourri of miscellany; a strange but intriguing merging of cultures. You halted at a pile of holonovels that caught your eye, skimming through them with a cautious interest.

 _“‘The Adventures of Master Justice’—_ ” you read the words aloud on the novel’s cover, turning it back over to view its cover art, “—’the galaxy’s _best-selling_ action-adventure holonovel’?”

A look of amusement crossed your features. Further into the fantastical abyss, you ventured, as you found yourself digging through more of those holonovels. 

The Nemiodian shopkeep latched a leery gaze onto your person. He must have seen far too many thefts in his time set up at this locale; patrons unwilling to pay for such drivel, but all too curious to not indulge in dramatic novellas.

 _“‘The Forbidden Forces of Love—”_ you paused to snort, as if an indirect heckle at the author, “—a Star-crossed Jedi _Romance’._

Fascination lurked in your eyes. The Old Republic had fiction, yes, but nothing as far-fetched as Jedi fiction that symbolised superheroes and unyielding trysts with them! You giggled, flipping through the pages, losing your composed self momentarily — the stuff written in here described absurdity to a tee, and within minutes, you had found a new guilty pleasure; a penchant for badly written romance holonovels and epic fantasies across the galaxy. The latter proved to be more of a favourite for you.

Ahsoka smiled at your amusement, sharing it, but she did not relate to your curiosity. You passed her the holonovel, and she analyzed it derisively.

“All this _mushy_ stuff just over-exaggerates the life of a Jedi,” she dismissed, “It’s all crazy assumptions and conjecture; just pure fiction. People seem to enjoy it though — I’ve seen a few here and there, being read by the people.”

 _“Are_ you going to buy that?” spat the Neimodian, already ticked off at the sight of you loafing around his store without so much of a hint of probable purchase. The both of you eventually left the books on the table, continuing through the row of shops — only midway through, did you begin picking apart her perception on corny, ludicrous novels on the love affairs of a Jedi. 

“Wait, you’ve _read_ them before, haven’t you?” you questioned cheekily, “How else would you know that?”

Ahsoka tried to maintain her unresponsiveness, but a hesitant protest escaped her, unable to resist her own defenses rising.

 _“I haven’t!_ I mean, I haven’t,” she repeated twice, the second time, in a much calmer tone. “I mean… I guess I _may_ have read a few pages?”

“Whatever for?” you inquired. “Surely, you had better things to do?”

The padawan fell silent. The conflicted expression on her face verified a suspicion you carried the moment she’d made her opinion clear on those holonovels.

 _“Ah,”_ you simply said.

Ahsoka had no idea how to recover from this. You now knew that she’d entertained the idea of love, and there was definitely a special someone in her life. Only a chance at love could push a Jedi to curiosity; to wonder if love was truly as it seemed, even in fiction itself. As to whether or not she had ever acted on such things, you did not want to risk turning her into a sputtering mess, and make her cheeks even redder.

“Say no more,” you consoled. “I will not pry.”

The day waltzed on, and the both of you experienced the rest of the Primeday market. You were quick to ignore that aspect of her personal life for now, so as to facilitate her being able to move past it, pretending that you never had that revelation about her. Her embarassment dissolved in no time — you were an easy person to talk to — and from that timidity, evolved a lively chat in a blossoming friendship.

* * *

As the sky darkened overhead; deflating overtones riding on the coattails of an animated afternoon, you chose to walk Padawan Ahsoka back to the Jedi Temple. You had not been in such a crowded place in a long time, and it appeared that Ahsoka was just as overwhelmed by the market population, for she sported a weary stature. Yet, her Force signature was at peace; satisfied by today’s events.

“I see what you mean, now,” Ahsoka spoke after a long bout of quiet. You accompanied her up the daunting amplitude of steps leading up to the Temple. You placed both your hands behind you, in eager anticipation of her epiphany.

“Seeing this part of Coruscant again — it reminded me why we strive so hard to uphold the Council’s ideals and support the Republic. All those people, from all across the galaxy, placing their faith in our protection; it’s why we won’t stop until the war is won.”

You nodded judiciously, proud of the Padawan for her own discovery.

“Thank you for today,” she expressed.

“Thank _you_ for showing me a good time,” you responded, laid-back and with a smile.

“Was it everything you thought a Primeday market would be?”

You lulled on your thoughts, reminiscing all the things you saw for sale.

“Yes, the holonovels were a definite highlight,” you chortled, “Though, part of me had hoped to find something less suggestive, and something more _substantial…_ ”

Years had gone by; and you’d been in slumber for the most part. You knew, to some extent, what had happened to The Old Republic — the Separatists made sure you were aware of it. Still, you were dying to know the intricacies of it all; like what had happened to your peers, the outcome of certain planetary disputes, whether peace had lasted or war had reigned supreme over particular sectors in the galaxy. General information of this was readily available on the holonet, but there were things even history books could not tell you, pertaining to events from over three millennia ago, leaving only Jedi holocrons of old to keep the truth of these events preserved.

Wistfully, you set your gaze on the fortitude that was the Jedi Temple; pensive, as your lips formed into a thin, grim line.

“What’s the matter?” Ahsoka asked, noticing the far-away look in your eyes.

 _“The Archives,”_ you mentioned. “They must be _rife_ with history. I could get lost in a place like that and be happy about it.”

Ahsoka recalled your fondness for the history of The Old Republic; but what she mistook for fondness was simply a sad sense of rootlessness. As a Padawan, you despised spending time in the Jedi Archives, coining it a _‘dusty, deteriorating data prison’._ You couldn’t stand studying a past that related to you in no way, except through weak association; you’d rather much spend that time being out on the field, doing actual grunt work — but _now?_

Now, you were homesick. You were sick for a home that no longer existed, sick for a time no longer present. The Old Republic was both a home and a period you could never return to. Such a portal to the past only subsisted in the form of historical datacrons and holocrons, most of which lay dormant in the Jedi Temple in front of you. Reading the fate of a life you once lived was going to be bizarre, maybe even painful, but how else were you to find closure? How else could you get rid of this restless feeling of being unable to feel at home with yourself?

“I wouldn’t count on it; the Council is strict with whom they allow onto the premises, least of all the Archives,” Ahsoka deterred, apologetically.

“Understandable. Also, I _was_ a Separatist,” you humorously added. Ahsoka was still dwelling over the issue of your access to the sacred building.

“That, too — but _if_ you’d like, the Temple’s outer courtyard _is_ open to all. I know it’s no adventure into the Archives, but we could speak more often. I can’t promise I’ll have all the answers to your questions about some parts of history, but I‘ll do my best. I’d like to know more about The Old Republic myself too, and speaking to an expert on it beats reading _dusty_ , _old holocrons.”_

You smirked at her use of words. She sounded a lot like you in your heyday.

So you couldn’t get into the Jedi Archives — no big deal. You walked away with something else that was just as good; a weekly, standing date with Ahsoka Tano, to chat about The Old Republic and the current one, to gossip about her Masters and your clone companions, and to blather on about everything else in between.


	19. Tall Tales

“ _Anakin—_ ” you croaked with a hoarse throat, forgetting yourself briefly as you addressed him without formality, “—what are you doing here at this _ungodly_ hour?”

The Jedi raised his brow at you in rattling amusement. Six in the morning wasn’t an unreasonable time to wake a person, least of all a person of Republic duty, from their sleep; but you had a long night of trawling through muddy reports and slogging through inconclusive leads, so much so, that any time before nine was _sure_ to make you irascible. Your hair a mess and your clothes a muss of inordinate folds, you kept most of your person hidden behind the door to your quarters, only allowing your head to peek through it.

“Your presence is being requested by a Senator,” he articulated. “I was sent to escort you.”

“What? _Why?”_ you questioned. You weren’t fully awake yet, so you didn’t bother trying to come to a conclusion yourself.

“I didn’t ask,” he plainly replied. “Probably something to do with your previous affiliation with the Separatists.”

“Of course — that _always_ seems to be the case, doesn’t it?” you mumbled, rubbing sorely the bridge of your nose. 

Anakin watched you perceptively. You were still in your day uniform. Either you’d been up very early, which was unlikely, judging by the frazzled state you were in, or you stayed up all night, hard at work. While he still remained reticent of your agenda within Republic walls, even he could admit that you appeared extremely committed to proving yourself a dependable ally. In any case, he noticed easily the lethargic movements of your hand on your own face. You pinched the area between your eyes in an attempt to expel the growing bleariness from them.

“Right, I’ll get dressed,” you sighed. “Come on in.”

He reacted visibly to your invitation, indecisive and uncertain as he looked through the gap between the door and its frame. Wouldn’t you need privacy to get into a new change of clothes?

“Uh, it’s alright, I can wait out here,” he assured.

“I’m going to get dressed in the ‘fresher,” you bluntly told him, “Not in front of you. Don’t be ridiculous.”

Still, he was apprehensive. You exhaled wearily; far too tired to manage his prudence. 

“You’ll look even more the fool standing outside my quarters and waiting; but whatever suits you.”

You turned away from Anakin, but since the door was still opened, he stepped in warily; hands kept to himself as he crossed them along his robust torso. The door whirred shut behind him, and while you disappeared into the adjoining refresher to change, he took this time to closely dissect your living situation; an impatient desire to learn more about you crystallizing with each second gone by.

At first, he sat at the common table in the midst of the room. He rested his elbows on the surface, observing his surroundings. Your bed was still in disarray, and there were datalogs scattered across the desk in the farther end of the room. Nothing of import; you safeguarded anything and everything that really mattered, away from prying eyes. A stale mug of caf lounged beside your holoterminal; the fading scent of locally roasted beans luring him to the desk. Having made his way over, he lifted one of your holopads in the palm of his gloved hand. His curious nature overpowered his Jedi-learnt restraint.

As Anakin paced around the room in possession of your holopad, reading the text on it, he spoke to you in a louder tone of voice for you to hear.

“Late night, again?” he prodded, having seen you around the headquarters roaming between the mess hall and your room at unseemly times of the night. He read further the words in his hands. All this was too much of a headache for his mind to digest: coding subroutines, defining variables, invoking functions — he was lucky to have a talent like yourself on his side. 

“You need to look after yourself better — caf’s not going to do you any favours in the long run.”

Your ears perked at the unwonted concern. In the refresher with your new outfit, you slowly slid into your top, pulling down the rest of it over your body, ironing out emerging wrinkles with the smooth of your open hand. Your clothes compelled authority and rule; they were for more momentous occasions, readied specially for public conferences and political audiences. As an intelligence officer, there would have been times when it was required of you to present your findings to higher, elevated influences. Your vestments reflected that responsibility.

“Anakin Skywalker; looking out for _me?”_ you laughed, satirically, “Maker forbid, hell hath frozen over!”

He glanced fleetingly in the direction of the fresher, charmed by your sarcasm, even with the doors closed. He shook his head as he smiled, returning the holopad to its rightful place.

“I’m no _Sith_ — I’ve got a heart, you know. I know we got off on the wrong foot, but even _I_ don’t want to see you wear yourself out like this.”

You tossed your old clothes in the hamper in the ‘fresher, stepping out a new person. You had tucked the strays of your hair back into place, and rinsed the colours of scarlet fatigue out your eyes. Had Anakin not seen you beforehand, he would not have been wise to the world-weary energy you were emanating; rippling in vicious currents throughout your harried brain.

“You cleaned up well, rookie — considering I didn’t give you much time,” he complimented. You assumed that this was more of an effort to make you less self-conscious about your tiredness, rather than an actual praise on your looks; Skywalker didn’t see why he couldn’t hit both targets. 

You returned his gesture with a dubious look.

He came clean as you walked up to him whilst knotting the ends of your sleeves, tightening the cuffs to better suit a formal appearance. “I was just trying to make you feel a little better. You _do_ look… uh…”

He wanted to say _‘nice’_ — but was that a little on the nose? He racked his brain for a synonym. Smart? Pleasant? Presentable? As _pretty_ as a picture?

 _“... nice,”_ he settled, clearing his throat awkwardly.

“I appreciate it, Anakin,” you indirectly thanked, expressing your graciousness with a playful grin. “Finally warming up to the idea of me, are you?”

“Who said anything about _that?”_ he retorted almost instantaneously, already forgoing the earlier tension that was evident only to him. Anakin fully intended to incite your irritation, but you only responded with a chuckle. You enjoyed your banter with the Jedi Knight whenever it happened — some of it may have been pointed, but you relished the spontaneity of these back-handed wisecracks.

 _“Right,_ have fun at your little Senatorial meet-up then, I’ll just be headed elsewhere—”

“Alright, alright—” he groaned, agitated, “—I’m _sorry._ Let’s just get going; we’re already running late.”

* * *

The Senate Building was just as grand as you remembered it to be, and no matter how many times you visited, whether in the past or present, you were just as awed by it as the first time you laid eyes upon the mighty rotunda. You and Anakin hopped off the air taxi, and immediately did a beckoning of splendor and regality wash over you like a potent wind; humanoid statues of the Galaxy’s Core Founders arching proudly on each side of the walkway leading up to the building.

The walk up to your destination was noiseless, between the both of you. Safe for Anakin greeting a few senators and congressmen along the way, you invested most of your attention toward the building’s structural integrity. Profound admiration for the dome’s intricate architecture vied the chance of any conversation between you and the Jedi — after spending such long days in GAR Headquarters, this was an exhibit for the eyes, and it was a chance to spur your motivations with a pleasant change of scenery.

It was a minor, yet startling realization for you, when you stepped foot in your first _ever_ turbolift. Anakin was not expecting you to grab him for dear life when the lift boosted upward at speeds you didn’t think had been achieved yet, at least not by _elevator technology._ The soaring panorama of Coruscant City beneath you wasn’t any help, either.

You scorned waiting for lifts in The Old Republic, for they were far too convenient with their time, and while you were happy that they wasted no years correcting this error in the future, _this breakneck speed certainly couldn’t have been safe,_ you thought! Did the Senate Building always have turbolifts? You didn’t know — the Jedi of your era rarely stepped foot in the Senate Building of Coruscant, let alone meddled in the affairs of politics. Whatever it was, you’d never been in one, and the Jedi next to you was more than elated to laugh at your expense.

“With unseen threats at every corner as a field agent; the one thing you’re scared of is a _turbolift?”_ he snickered; hand on yours as you grabbed his sleeve. With a conflated mix of bemusement and gentleness, he lifted your palm off him, setting it down back to your side.

“I’m not scared—” you steadily _(not at all)_ replied, “—I just wasn’t expecting it to move this fast!”

Why did you have to come here with _Anakin?_ You were easily humiliated by such petty blunders, and you'd been witnessed by the one person who would never let you live it down.

“How is it possible that you’ve _never_ been on a turbolift?” he asked with an almost concern.

“I, uh…” you cleared your throat, composing yourself. “I don’t get out much.”

The turbolift stopped a beat after your finished sentence, as if on cue, and the doors parted open with concise purpose. The carpeted hallways on the Senate’s Upper Levels were foreign to your step. When your foot sunk into its soft surface, you caught yourself quickly; reactionary in your response. Two things added to your clumsy misdemeanor: the fact that you spent far more time getting acquainted with the unfeelingness of tensile, metal flooring, and the fact that you had just gotten off a rapid death trap they called a _turbolift._

"Need help _walking_ , rookie?” teased Anakin; mischievous as ever.

You groaned, ”Shut up, Skywalker.”

“General Skywalker—” a third voice halted, “—Senator Amidala is in her office chambers, expecting you.”

“Sorry for the hold-up,” Anakin apologized to the blue-robed Senate Guard. “We’re ready to meet her.”

The guard proceeded to escort the both of you further down the hallway. As soon as you stepped within the office chambers, a calm, delicate voice accommodated your entry; the source deriving from the silhouette of a slender, young woman anchored firmly at her desk. Anakin watched the Senator with an unusual patience whilst she decisively attended to her aides, delegating and conferring various undertakings to them. You, however, were pulled not to the commotion in front of you, but to what lay beyond it.

Coruscant’s skyline decorated the sizable window behind Senator Amidala, boasting a sublime, albeit, dizzying view of the planet’s teeming facade. It had been quite some time since you’d been gifted access to such heights, as well as the chance to admire such a picturesque vista. This moment of serenity, for you, did not last very long. With a crisp wave of her hand, the Senator simultaneously dismissed her aides, and signalled you two forth.

“Agent ________, a pleasure — I’m Senator Padmé Amidala. General Skywalker has said much about you,” said the woman; clothed in beautiful regalia befitting a queen.

“He _has,_ has he?” you eyed him skeptically, “No doubt, he’s been _generous_ with my shortcomings.”

“You could stand to give me a _little_ more credit than that,” he muttered, rolling his eyes at your haughtiness.

“I apologise for requesting your presence on such short notice, but I’d only just been informed of your _unique_ situation last eve,” she soughed. “Coupled with the problem at hand, I thought it might be best to seek your advice, and possibly, help.”

Something only a Republic officer with a Separatist past could accomplish, teamed with a Jedi Knight? You looked over at Anakin, and for a short moment, you could discern confusion, exemplified in his returned gaze. 

You nodded permissively before saying, “Of course, Senator. What can I do for you?”

“We have a very, _erm…_ how should I put this—” she hummed, walking to the front of her desk to properly stand before you, "— _eccentric_ guest representative of a minor House from Alderaan, scheduled to arrive in Coruscant in about an hour’s time.”

“An eccentric Alderanian isn’t very uncommon,” you shrugged. “And I’m to help with this matter, how exactly?”

“We’ve been locked in a territorial dispute that’s been drawn out far too long. House Alde lies closest to one of the biggest war refugee camps on the planet; which is set up in the King’s Pass ravine. The house resides in the Juran Mountains, and without their permission, we are not allowed entry into the area, inclusive of the surrounding regions,” she explained, laying down the planet’s geography.

“They are hesitant, to say the least, to offer emergency aid to the refugees, claiming that the fear for their lives is _‘incomprehensible’_ , especially since the Separatists have done nothing but secretly line the House’s vaults with bribes in order to intercept our help.”

“As if you expected anything more from a bureaucratic society,” Anakin said gratingly. 

“It’s difficult for me to not want to see the good in people, Anakin,” she defended. “In any case, those refugees need help, and soon. House Alde is not without some semblance of empathy. They were once allies to House Organa and were integral to Alderaan’s govern, after all — we simply need to remind them of their good faith, and convince them that the refugees are _truly_ fearful for their lives, and for good reason. And, that is why…”

Senator Amidala turned to you, and while you took your time to understand why she had looked so contrite, the pieces started to fall into place.

“Oh — I see what _this_ is,” you finally said, effectuating your thoughts. “I’m your _token Separatist,_ aren’t I? A _ghastly_ trophy to be waved around in front of cloistered, small-minded politicians? Do I put the fear of their creators into them by gathering them around a dimming fire, entertaining them with horror stories of a Separatist occupation, eating _roasted Denta beans?”_

“I didn’t realize this is what you wanted her for,” Anakin added, in support of your protest. “It’s not like you to resort to these methods.”

“Actually, I would need your help corroborating her accounts as well,” said Senator Amidala. The Jedi narrowed his eyes at her.

“Why didn’t you say this from the start when you asked me?” he frankly asked.

Padmé pursed her lips. “I feared that the both of you might not agree to it — but you don’t have to tell the truth at all! All they need is, _well,_ a good scare. If you have any anecdotes that could possibly change their minds, it won’t matter if it’s partially false, especially since it’s coming from you, Agent — I think it could make all the difference — twofold, if Anakin supports your retelling of events.”

You mulled on her words, firstly, relieved that none of it had to be of factual nature. You spent a fair amount of time under Separatist watch, but not long enough to be able to have firsthand accounts of their dictatorship. Either way, it wouldn’t have been too hard predicting how a House’s fate would have ended, were they aligned with the opposition. All you had to do was tailor a few falsities, outlandish as they may have turned out, to this representative of House Alde to mortify him.

With a burdened exhale, Anakin decided to speak on your behalf.

“With all due respect, I don’t think this is a good idea, Senator. As a Jedi, I shouldn't get too involved with Republic politics, and I highly doubt Agent ________ is okay with this, either. She’d only just defected; it’s a little fresh—“

“Anakin and I would owe you an incredible favour,” Senator Amidala interjected.

 _“—what?”_ he bitingly responded. You leaned away from the Jedi who was clearly not at all fine with this, though there was something you couldn’t quite place between the two individuals; they spoke freely between each other — could they be old friends?

Padmé looked pleadingly at the general.

“I… ugh, _yes_ — _I_ would owe you one, too.”

“Now, how could I _possibly_ pass up an opportunity like that?” you leered cunningly at him. It was like watching a lightrail wreck. You knew you shouldn’t have relished this feeling, but the sight of Anakin gripping with this decision was one for the books.

“Good, then it’s settled,” she said with a sigh of relief. “Perhaps the both of you should get your stories in order; prepare for the meet, as it were, and we can _finally_ get those refugees the aid they deserve.”

With Senator Amidala gone to her personal quarters to dress for the occasion, Anakin turned to you, slightly irked by the twist of events — you could tell by the fluctuating of his Force signature.

“We’re _really_ doing this?”

“Apparently so. Got any ideas?”

“You’re the Separatist — you tell me.”

“If this representative is truly fond of eccentricities as Senator Amidala claims, the truth will not suffice,” you concluded. “We’ll need something more… _flowery.”_

You brooded over the possibilities, deliberating and devising tall tales with General Skywalker the rest of the time before the expected hour. Needless to say that the meeting itself was absolutely chaotic; with your account of _‘Separatist-spliced Wampas suited to Alderaan’s atmosphere, trained to sniff out and destroy blue-blooded nobles’_ — and while, at the start, Anakin could only either shake his head in plausible deniability, or stifle a laugh, he, too, eventually jumped in with antics of his own — such as _‘mind-controlled, Separatist-aligned royals who only allowed their people to wear imported Sand People rags’_. 

House Alde’s representative could only watch with complete terror and brimming confusion plastered across his pale face, especially since you and Anakin sported a remarkable deadpan throughout the whole conversation.

Anakin would steal a glance at you whenever you came up with something passionately absurd; your witless stories amusing him, and the sly glint in your eyes sparking a _subtle_ interest within him. 

Seeing this side of you, the Jedi soon found himself no longer tolerating your presence, but actually _wanting_ to be around it more.

Regardless, both of you were uncontrollable. Padmé regretted this decision sorely, watching from afar as you two consistently churned out utter nonsense, but your credit, it was wildly successful — within the hour after that, the lanes to King’s Pass ravine were cleared to see Republic aid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for 2k hits, y'all!! I'm completely blown away by your supportive comments and enthusiasm too; I appreciate every one of you!


	20. Doubt

Fixed stares ate away at your selfhood. The guise of your actions began to falter under these incisive gazes, feeling the reserves of your self-consciousness crumble under such discerning eyes. You were not very welcomed here, and the passing judgement of the Temple Guards would have been alarming, if not for the heartsease of semi-familiar grounds under your feet. It was the repurposed earth in the Jedi Temple’s Outer Courtyard; blades of grass tickling at your ankles, that reminded you — even if the guards maintained sanction to take you away from these holy grounds, should they see fit — they could _never_ take your connection to the Force away from you.

Coruscant’s Jedi Temple was much like the Jedi Enclave on Tython. Being close to a similar source of all your purpose; being close to the governing body that founded your design as a Jedi Sentinel, moulding you into the person you were then, remembering how the Order thumbed at the clay of you, correctively, after each misstep; restored and re-sealed your connection to the Force.

You remembered how simple it was, serving the Order without so much of a shadow of a doubt. Simplicity bred obedience. The lack of experience dealing with fear steeled your loyalties and your trust in the Jedi, making you implicit to their whims. How desperately you wanted to return to this period of apathy — alas, the sands of time would not travel back upward, for the laws of dimension denied this. 

You wished you knew not what you know now; the greyness of moral ambiguity and the ambivalence of doubt. This doubt, you owed to your recent time as a Sith. The floodgates had opened. Having brandished zealous anger once before, you found yourself, once in a while, wondering when you would resort to it again. In truth, life was unjust, and sometimes, those forbidden emotions, to you, had begun to feel… _necessary._

_Hold on to your emotions, even when their tempest rages over you like a ferocious torrent. Even when it seems like it is going to break you, and even when it seems that you can no longer hold on to those emotions; like passion, love and hate — never give up then, for that is just the place and time that the tide will turn. Remember; there can be no knowledge without emotion. A life without emotion is to live a life of rampant ignorance._

You remembered his words very clearly.

Leaning into the balcony, you watched Coruscant City; every avenue ample with activity, never getting a moment’s rest. The Jedi Temple was truly a safe haven for you; a palliative potion for your soul. It grounded you and reminded you of reason and logic, wisdom and sensibility. It attempted to rid you of countless teachings instilled in you by a Sith Lord, like antivenom to a withering vessel.

You _needed_ this, lest your thoughts spiralled, causing the darkness stirring within you to actually start making sense again.

A pronounced voice punctuated your thoughts.

“Hello there.”

You straightened your posture, removing your rueful glance at the bustling city, depersonalizing from your memories. _“General Kenobi,_ good to see you again. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“I believe so. The last time we met was on our mission to Aargonar,” reminisced Obi-Wan as he took position next to you, observing the sights beyond the Temple in a muted silence. His contemplative posture, with his arms crossed in front of him, always seemed to speak coherently to his strong sense of duty and order. It was naught but a few moments ago that he’d just finished tending to his duties around the Temple, only to be abruptly bestirred by an unfamiliar singularity. The lurking stench of apprehension and unease bothered him like a streak of dust across a translucent window. He could sense the negativity riveting off some person, somewhere, in the Temple — he was not surprised to discover that the source was you.

“The scenery is quite the marvel. You’ve arrived just in time to watch the sunset, I see,” he commented simply, and you smiled in kind. His next words broke through to you like stone against glass.

“Yet, I can’t help but notice, some form of… emerging _resentment,_ ailing you. Is everything alright?”

You shut your eyes hard, berating yourself for letting your emotions carry you too far. At the risk of exposure, you were extremely lucky that he did not feel compelled to plumb the depths of your spirit, into your Force signature. Obi-Wan just assumed that you were, by all means, a regular human being beset only by mortal problems, so he extended no further than he had to.

You hesitantly answered him, “Everything is as it seems, General. You spared little to no time probing into my feelings, did you?”

“I apologize _—_ I didn’t intend to _—_ but it’s difficult to not sense it when it becomes overbearingly vivid. I sense that you are deep in conflict with yourself.”

Letting out a breathy sigh, you turned to him, only just realizing that this whole time, he had already ascribed his full attention to you. “Nothing to worry yourself about, General. I am just in need of some… clarity and answers. Searching for them has been trying at best.”

“There’s no need for secrecy, Agent _________ — I’m hardly one to act a jury to problems not my own. However, if you need some guidance…”

“A woman can harbour a deep ocean of secrets; to know them is to know their heart,” you proclaimed, staying firm on your decision to keep your issues to yourself. With a lighthearted joke in show of good faith, you smirked before speaking.

“So, unless you intend on _seducing_ these secrets out of me, I think I’m allowed to maintain my alluring air of mystery.”

 _“Perish the thought,”_ chuckled Obi-Wan, “I highly doubt a woman like yourself panders to a single evening’s worth of amorous advances in exchange for information. Although, I have to admit _—_ your lack of transparency _does_ lure undesirable attention.”

“Are you referring to your nosy self?” you quipped. 

“The Temple Guards actually; they haven’t stopped watching you since you arrived _—_ but I suppose I _do_ deserve that for giving in to my curiosities. I was merely concerned, is all. It is fine by me if you wish to let sleeping hounds lie.”

“Your kindness knows no bounds, General,” you assured, mildly touched by his worry. He was the first to approach you, the first to reach into your person, the first in a while to grace you with sympathy. “Should the need arise one day, that I require your foresight, I will gladly ask.”

You hoped that the lilt of your voice implied benevolence and not unfeeling inertia. You did not want him to mistake you for an inhospitable person. You quite enjoyed Obi-Wan’s company — he wasn’t quite as talkative as his counterpart, nor was he young and inexperienced like their counterpart’s Padawan. In many ways, you related to the general. You were once steadfast in your loyalties. You knew what kind of person Obi-Wan was like, for you could see a long-gone version of yourself in him. The parallels between him and your old self was clear to you.

The general was a smart man. He boasted a keen sense of patience, sharpened by life’s whetting blade, and he was also a kind man, humbled by the lessons imparted to him as a youngling. Such shrewdness prompted your desire to know his motivations for being an exemplary Jedi Knight — perhaps, in his answers, you would find your own.

“Your tireless devotion to others as well as the Council is _quite_ something. Do you ever tire of the responsibility?” you implored, head tilting ever so slightly at him. He returned a lenient smile; eyes gentle, as was his persona.

“Not at all. I was raised to uphold the Jedi Code. It is a life of duty and purpose. At least, to me, it has never felt like a chore.”

“And you are _thankful_ for this life that has been irretrievably hand-picked for you? A life thrust upon you by the Jedi Order and its High Council? Do you _never_ wonder what it would have been like, had you not been inducted at such a young age? Even with a greater destiny that may lay in the alternative?” you pressed more intently. One of your hands lingered on the surface of the majestic balustrade next to you, and the other pulled away when you angled yourself in a more direct manner toward the general.

Obi-Wan grasped your aggravation from the get-go, reading into the shortness of your temper. Had he known your true self, he would have reminded you to grapple with self-control — but at this moment in time, he knew not of your Jedi origins — so he allowed you to express your frustrations as an observer of his discipline.

“The Force _guides_ us to destiny. The Council only does what is necessary to protect us by accepting younglings, as soon as they master their basic motor skills. Seeing their role in the galaxy for what it is, I can _hardly_ decide whether I should be thankful. It is from the will of the Force alone, and the Order it represents, that I am standing here today — it’s nothing more, and nothing less.”

You mustered a weak laugh. “There are many that will misinterpret your faith for blindness, Master Jedi.”

“I… _have_ been told that, yes,” he resigned. What he once detected in you, you then could feel in his wavering resolve. You didn’t mean to inflict doubt upon him — you only told the truth. This show of honesty was, also, unlike you to bear. Obi-Wan seemed to draw out a side of you that was a little vulnerable. You did the same to him, especially so, when you told him at point-blank of his naïveté. 

Qui-Gon, his Master, who had returned to the Force, spoke to him through your words. Your sentiments provided him with an introspective quandary, provoking him into critical thought. Had he truly not outgrown his inexperience, that even _you_ could see the cracks in his fealty to the Jedi, just like his Master had? To hear strikingly similar words from someone else — it cuffed him with hardened dispirit, that birthed a whisper of a hope, wishing his Master could be around to guide him out of his chagrin once more.

However, your exchange with Obi-Wan led him to realize that you were wise beyond your years. You were a distinct mnemonic of the ideals his Master once upheld, examining life as a Jedi with tangible critique, just as he had. He was familiar with this disposition — and he wanted to understand it more.

All of a sudden, you no longer represented an ever maturing enigma in his mind's eye — when you spoke, it was with compassion and tenderness. Likewise, you found in his responses, some clarity.

“I’m sorry if I offended you, General,” you submitted. “I suppose I’m not as well-versed in the lessons of charm and etiquette as you are; you practically _ooze_ it.”

“Charm is not something easily learned—“ he joshed, quickly recovering from his sullenness, “—but regardless, I think you sell yourself short, Agent. From our conversation, it’s clear to me that your appeal lies in your understanding and intellect.”

“Hm, yes, most men just _adore_ smart women, don’t they?” you said sarcastically.

“ _I_ certainly admire them.”

Your eyes flicked over to his, and he held your gaze for a lasting moment, wholly immersed. Without saying a single word, the two of you pivoted yourselves back to the already darkening, overcast sky, watching as the night set in. A coy smile had spread on both your faces; the implication of his veiled compliment bringing slight heat to your cheeks. He had remarked without thinking as well, so he, too, blushed at the notion.

This was the last thing you’d expected today; General Kenobi appearing to indirectly help you through your troubles with distracting but thoughtful conversation. 

Peace grew in place of doubt; his steady, faultless presence soothed you. The sleekness of his voice and decorum of his mannerisms casted your earlier doubts far away from your mind and brought you home.

There were not many things that you felt thankful for, being set on the path of a Jedi; but for now, you were thankful for Obi-Wan’s company. 

In a time when you felt most alone and lost, he showed.


	21. One of Them

Your shoulders eased restlessly unto pins and needles — just like the day before, you had to guard against pointed stares shot at you through hooded eyes, warding away their judgment by pretending not to corral it. The glint off one’s plastoid helmet drawled inexperience; their harsh, uninhibited whispers surplussing their callowness. Their lack of restraint was telling: these troopers were, in fact, cadets, and they spared no time making groundless observations about you as soon as you stepped foot in the mess hall.

The repeated mantra of ignoring the rumours that were rumbling about the clones’ throats was beginning to wear thin. You wished they had the decency to shroud their back-fence talk behind closed doors, but no — they only acted this way when you were in their presence, as if to taunt you, banking on your reactive impulses to solicit some form of reaction from you.

Wading through the fresh clones was simple enough; wading through their prickly auras was not. Each person you passed only harboured foul reproach; their partially masked faces raw with disapproval; such was the short walk toward the unstaffed cantina.

You took one long disgruntled look at the nanocooler fixed against the wall next to the food bar, the latter of which was completely, and ironically, stark of food. The cooler itself offered no illusion of choice either, only rooming two miserable rows of protein-packed synthsoy, and even if there were better options to be had in both outlets — this morning, you felt stripped of your appetite, and you were only going to find sustenance in order to fuel the physical. 

You were close to figuring out something; a lead, a digital trail. You were not going to let yourself rest, not when you were nighing a lightbulb magically appearing above your head! You were so close, you could feel it; maybe you just needed to tweak your search algorithms just once more, tailor it to a different set of strings; you’d picked up distant chatter and unearthed more Separatist plans that sounded vaguely relevant to you — so, no, you were not going to waste time satisfying your hunger elsewhere. A disgusting, unflattering bottle of protein synthsoy would have to do. You briskly opened the nanocooler, swiping the bottle upfront to your person, and shut the door. 

Almost home free, you walked up to the mess hall’s exit, unconcerned, until three Clone Cadets barricaded your leave.

“Look, Razor — we’ve got ourselves one of _them."_

“Awful _brave_ of you to walk in here without looking over your shoulder, aren’t you?”

“What’ve you got there? Taking our food now?”

“Y’know how they are; the _Seppies_ are always taking what they want, whenever they want, don’t matter to them who they have to step over to get it.”

The clone in the middle growled lowly, “Don’t get _too_ comfortable, sweetheart. Don’t matter how or why you got here — _you’ll always be one of them.”_

You refused to break away from his intent glare; the silence that followed multiplied their contempt for the insolence that was your existence. Their aversion to their enemy was unequivocal. It was not enough that you were accepted by their higher-ups. Nothing would ever have been enough, especially knowing the confederacy from which you hailed; a precursor of all that was wrong with the world at that moment in time. 

“This is all a _tad_ juvenile, isn’t it? I won’t indulge in your little playpen politics, cadet. I don’t go out of my way to bother you — I strongly suggest you do the same.”

Mid-step out the hall, the clone’s arm extended abruptly across you, forcefully blocking you in. You leaned marginally back; your face a hair away from his plated sleeve. You had more important things to attend to. This was not one of them. Your tolerance was ebbing with each thoughtless interaction wasted on this trio of soldiers; tired and angered at all the obstacles that the creators were placing in your path. It was unlike you to lose your cool, but there you were, fuming, wrecked by petty hindrances.

A flash of heat nested in your heart; the struggle to subdue your hidden nature writhing against your will.

With a stiff warning, you snarled.

“Get _out_ of my way.”

“Or what?”

A trooper in notable armour appeared behind the three cadets; his presence presumable in authority. He noted the posture of his men, and noted yours. He was visibly displeased.

“Or… nothing. By the by — you’re blocking the way,” you casually informed them without so much as a foreshadowing to their superior’s wrath. You’d never seen one of the clones react with such exalted speeds.

 _“S-Sir!_ We were just —“

 _“Can it,_ shiny,” ordered the trooper. “Are these men bothering you, officer?”

The cadets turned back to you, and you would have laughed upon having seen the look on their faces; like lost little lambs referring to a wolf as to whether they would be eaten by him, or instead be sent to the slaughterhouse — or, on the off-chance, shown mercy. You chose to reply with calm indifference.

 _“No,”_ you answered simply. You were above this. Your annoyance subsided quickly, as did the rising heat in your chest. You would have to relearn the control over your impulse, for they appeared to have lost their bridles after having swam the depths of the Dark Side.

Your clone in shining armour made eye contact with you, and you returned it, but not before noticing the single digit tattooed on his right temple.

“You three are lucky; I sure as _hell_ wouldn’t have been as lenient. She is a Republic Officer, and therefore, she is _your_ superior. If I see you cornering her one more time, I’ll see to it that you never get to step foot on the field,” he threatened, flexing his mastery over his cadets. “Get out of my sight before I report you for blatant insubordination and harassment.”

The fresh-out-the-tank clones disappeared within seconds, leaving you in the presence of an ally. He shook his head at the shameful display of events, then looked at you softly, as if repentant of his men’s actions. His eyes, brown in hue, mapped a sense of pride in his brethren — so, to him, this was a sorry show of respect, and he only hoped that you didn’t think less of his kind, especially since he was fiercely loyal to them; they were his family.

“I’m not an officer,” you rectified.

“No—“ he agreed, “—but you will be, soon enough. They should treat you as such, considering we all rely on people like you for intel. I’m sorry for their behaviour; not all of us are like that. Those that are usually pick it up from their environment.”

“No apologies necessary, trooper. I’m fully aware of that — I’ve been here long enough to weed out the bad and the ugly from the nice ones,” you lightheartedly joked, diffusing the tension lingering in the air.

“So I’ve heard — The Captain, Kix and Echo have talked about you.”

“Ah, you must be part of the 501st. And you are?”

“Fives — _a pleasure_ ,” he finally introduced, and finally relaxed.

 _“Oh._ Well, I could’ve guessed that,” you joshed, staring at the tattoo beside his head that wrote _‘5’_ in Aurebesh as you walked past him. He stood in place as your clothes grazed his armour scantly, only revolving slightly after you positioned yourself just before the mess hall’s entryway. You unscrewed the top off your drink, eying him with intrigue.

“Anyway, thank you for intervening. You were very timely,” you thanked.

 _“Someone_ had to. You were barely reacting to them. You were just going to let them walk all over you like that, huh? Nothing like the hard-boiled Agent I’ve been hearing about from the boys,” Fives badgered facetiously.

The bottle stopped short of your lips. You’d already tilted your head backward to down the synthsoy, but you lowered your gaze back at him upon hearing his tease.

 _“Excuse me?”_ you humoured. “I thought it best to not escalate the situation.”

Fives shrugged, “I wouldn’t have faulted you for doing otherwise.”

“So I’m just to assume that, should you have chanced on our little spat, you would have taken my word over your men’s?”

“There’s being supportive and backing up your men in the face of insensibility—“ he elaborated, but with a distant look in his eyes, as if recalling something unsavoury, “—then there’s _enabling_ disrespect and disregard. It was clear to me what was necessary. So, yes — I would’ve.”

Fives was the embodiment of brotherhood and comradeship. In defense of his brothers, he was often critical of his superiors and the orders they relayed to him. He knew irrationality when he saw it in battle plans, and when he heard it in the bellowing commands of his generals. After the Battle of Umbara, Fives’ natural law of being was to be suspect of most, if not all, of his higher-ups. It was his chief instinct to adopt disbelief and distrust; an instinct contrived from a messy, horrible scar of the past. And yet — his friends’ accounts of you softened his disdainful views.

“Good to know I’ll have someone like you at my back,” you said with a gracious smile, which then turned into a charitable grin. “And thank you for the encouragement. I forget my authority sometimes — I’ll be sure to toss dissenters out an airlock the next time I come across trouble.”

“Don’t go on a power trip, now,” he advised with a lopsided smirk. “Didn’t come to your rescue for you to turn into a tyrant.”

You smiled, and said, “I’m sure you’ll keep me in check, Fives.”

“Of course. I don’t make exceptions for my men’s misdemeanours. The rule applies to you, too—” he confirmed, “—you’re one of us, now.”

“Oh?” you pressed, amused at his eager claim. “Thought the rumours about how I gut clones for fun and eat their insides for supper would have you _running_ for the hills.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Fives mocked, “I saw how you were with those cadets. You wouldn’t harm a fly.”

“Would you care to test that?” you challenged with a playful, but firm tone. At long last, you lifted the rim of the bottle to your mouth, lifting its base high and tipping its contents down your throat. Fives watched, antsy, as the exposed lump in your throat moved at a steady pace. The parchedness rooted in your neck only faded slightly; the drink in hand was viscous with a thick blend of nutrients and supplements.

“I was supposed to head back and get some work done, but… I guess this is as good a sign as any for me to pace myself. Feel like I could knock some heads for stress relief, if you want to join me in the training hall. Maker knows the Captain has been criticizing me for my lack of practice.”

You were hesitant to pull away from your priorities, but you often found yourself to be unproductive when you were dealing with frustration. You hoped that the time apart would solve your mental block. Perhaps you would return to your quarters to check the radar on your squad one last time, before meeting Fives at the training hall.

“ _Some_ implies more than one,” he observed. “Kix and Echo are off-duty at the moment. Want me to get them?”

You hummed.

“Sure, _why not._ They’ll get front row seats if they show up early.”


	22. At Long Last

The Admiral insisted that you not bring liquids into the briefing room, but that didn’t stop you from doing so. Metallic caf mug in one stuttery hand, and a holopad in the other; the incessant beating of your heart in your ears drummed like rakghouls racing across hollow shipwrecks — any and all advice, commands, requests or decrees were muted by the typhoon of adrenaline coursing through you. It was no surprise that you could barely make out the words in front of you, let alone hear yourself think.

You had little to no purpose in this room, being in the Admiral’s presence, as a lowly Republic Intelligence trainee, but what you stumbled upon had been too important to not notify the higher ranks. You needed to enlist the Jedi Council’s help with this too, and you were not going to get it without his help. After skimming over your findings, Admiral Yularen deemed your discovery fit for further investigation — he contacted the Council, and along with that transmission came the three Jedi you’d acquainted yourself with over the past month, inclusive of one Clone Captain.

Coherent speech winged over you like muffled words. You picked up on the noises of idle chatter behind your person, but your reflexes trawled behind, fighting against the resistance that was a caffeine-induced high. With your back to the crew, you remained as is, scanning the texts on your holopad, doing once-overs at the larger terminal you stationed yourself at with fueled vigilance. Somehow, you hadn’t registered that you had company.

Admiral Yularen shook his head at the sight of you, then turned to the three Jedi and Captain Rex who had convened in the room at the agreed upon time.

“I apologize in advance—” he maundered discreetly, “—she’s not _quite_ herself today.”

Ahsoka looked to Anakin, who looked to Obi-Wan, confused by this warning. He received these looks as silent questions, and relayed them to the Admiral in kind. “What do you mean?”

The Admiral cleared his throat.

“Agent ________, they have arrived.”

You were so absolved in your thoughts and capsized in your fidgetiness, that it took you several seconds to respond accordingly, but when you did, you turned sharply at him, and with startling swiftness.

“I’m _sorry?_ What was that?” you asked, relying on a repeat of his words. The sight of the Jedi had answered your question. “Oh! Good, you’re _all_ here!”

Tossing your holopad crudely onto the terminal, you gripped tightly the handle of the cup in your hand as you hopped off the elevated platform; jetting down the stairs with an avid bounce in your step. All four members of the new squad squinted quizzically at your form, which was festooned with garlands of giddiness and baubles of excitement; the palpitations in your chest thrumming rapidly as you reached the holoterminal in the middle of the room. Had your exhilaration come in the form of a well-kept person, they wouldn’t have questioned it as much, but your disheveled appearance impressed a worry unto them.

It seemed that even the most disciplined of Jedi were susceptible to the caprices of caffeinated beverages. You needed just a little boost to push you through your sleepless nights; something to propel you forward into your search for your companions, before the trail went cold.

Padawan Ahsoka raised an obvious concern. “_________, how long has it been since you _slept?”_

"Or _‘washed’,”_ Anakin trimmed away from you since you were just beside him. You didn’t smell bad, you just smelled like you’d taken a day-long swim in a large vat of stale caf. You lifted the mug to your lips, speaking before indulging yourself even more; hands shuddering with intensity.

“Sleep is for the weak—” you hastily mumbled, taking a quick drink, “—and besides, could sleep accomplish _this?!”_

You leapt closer to the holoterminal, pushing at the square panels lined on its base. The room lit a bright, chromatic blue as a large map flickered to existence in front of everyone. Obi-Wan, with his arms crossed, shrugged as if to imply uncertainty.

“And _this_ is?” Obi-Wan pressed.

 _“This_ is it!” you exclaimed, “This is the next one!”

Captain Rex felt almost sorry for you. He’d gotten to know you exceedingly well, arguably better than the rest of the group, and he just knew you were going to have some form of anxiety over how foolish you looked, as soon as you’d woken up from a well-deserved nap. Rex glanced over at your mug, then at you; doubt forming in his mind as to whether you even had an inkling of what you were saying. It was hard to believe that you were the same, cool-headed person from a week before; now, you sported crazed eyes and informal speech. The wise, collected persona had dissolved behind a screen of delirium.

“The next _what?”_ prompted the clone.

A short period of silence followed as all of them awaited your answer with bated breath.

“What?” you returned, blinking curiously at them. The Admiral sighed; forehead sinking into the palm of his hand. He had been dealing with your sporadic fusillades of inattentiveness for most of the morning. “Why are you all looking at me like that? Is there something on my face? Is it… _my face?”_

 _“O-kay,_ that’s enough, I’m going to take _this_ away from you, now,” Anakin encroached your personal space, taking hold of your wrist and freeing you of the half-empty mug of caffeine; a sniveling whine whistling from your throat as the Jedi seized your substances. “You’re clearly sleep-deprived, and we’re just going to talk circles around ourselves before we even start making any sense of what you’re telling us — just a whole lot of noise for a whole lot of nothing.”

“I am _perfectly_ fine,” you demanded.

Anakin propped his hands by his hips. “I’ll let you shave my head if you can put your hands out in front of yourself without them shaking.”

You did as told. 

“See—” you firmly assured, yet, your nerves betrayed you; tremors rippling through your fingers; palm shivering at the group unapologetically, “— _I’m fine.”_

Anakin rolled his eyes at you.

“Perhaps we can resume this briefing later in the day, when Agent _______ is herself again,” Obi-Wan suggested. He wasn’t sure whether he should be empathic to your situation, or amused.

 _“No!”_ you protested, lurching forward and breaking free of Anakin’s hold on your hand. “No, no, no — we don’t have time! I can do this. Just… give me a moment!”

You spun away from the group; head in your hands as if to, quite literally, grip onto reality. Your current state of stupor and the actions that spurred from it was bemusing to some, puzzling to one and concerning to others. Anakin stared at his peers, irritated as he questioned the credibility of your intel and your jurisdiction. You willed the serenity of the Force into your mind, centering your emotions without drawing the attention of those who could sense it. _Calm yourself, this is important,_ you ordered.

Was it the lack of sleep? The overload on caf? The excitement of finally finding something to latch onto — _hope_ — that made you this way? It may as well have been all three. You didn’t know if any of your squad had unfrozen from their carbonite chambers, or if they were even alive, but regardless, they were depending on you to find them. No more messing around, no more being idiotic.

Your chest heaved, allowing yourself a deep, focusing breath. _First think, then speak._ You turned to the group once more.

“The Separatist ship on Trancret—” you started, “—code cylinders. Found them onboard. They contain security clearance codes to encrypted comm transmissions; been tapping into their relays, trying to expand on their chatter by scouring the airwaves for unique phrases. Of anything that was old, like Forex.”

“Forex?” Ahsoka probed. “What’s _Forex?”_

“Forex — the battle droid. Sorry, _M1-4X,”_ you reiterated. Ahsoka nodded, understanding.

“Anything that was millenia old, anything they deemed extremely classified and dangerous, any important shipments inbound to established Separatist planets or unusual locations — anything they claimed the Republic would be blindsided by. What you see in front of you: a map of the planet Quesh, in, well, the Quesh System, in Hutt Space,” you announced, gesturing as steadily as you could to the holoterminal. 

You were familiar with Quesh. You’d been there before, a long time ago, but it wasn’t the time to reminisce. You picked up a nearby holopad, tapping away at it to bring up more info.

“Talk of ‘The Old Republic’ and ‘adrenal stimulants’ — by the _thousands,"_ you surmised. “All being manufactured off Quesh venom. _Potent_ stuff.”

Ahsoka asked, “So they’re producing adrenals for whom, exactly? Their armies are mostly made up of droids, aren’t they?”

“Guess that would’ve been the big mystery, still is, maybe — but then I found what they were transporting them in.”

You switched the displays on the holoterminal. The image of a freighter appeared before you.

“An Aurore-class freighter?” Admiral Yularen murmured. He looked to Obi-Wan, who foretold his concern; brows knitting at the sight.

“Possibly _Zygerrian Slave ships_. It seems that they may have been offered unwilling test subjects from the Zygerrian Slave Empire.”

The bitterness fizzling off Anakin was tangible. You perceived his disdain for the slave trade; cruel victimization of sentients exacerbating the Jedi’s loathing for those who exploited them. The air grew thick with hate, and the Force fluctuated according to his tender. Everyone in the room, force-sensitive or otherwise, could clearly see the anger rolling off Anakin. Normally, you would have advised caution — but seeing as you’d discovered one of your friends was aboard this ship — you were just as maddened. You’d come across audiologs detailing their transfer of carbonite to Zygerria from Quesh through Tatooine. At all costs, you were to prevent this from occurring. The last thing you wanted was for them to fall into the hands of slavers.

Of course, denying the Separatists this shipment was of just as much import.

“Quesh houses old venom processing facilities. The adrenals are being made there. Sabotaging their operations is in our best interest,” you advised, slightly short of breath, even though that this whole time, you’d been speaking in short, quick sentences. You were still battling the effects of the caf, reminding yourself at every word to make _some_ sense at the cost of semi-formal dialogue.

 _“Need_ to put a stop to this at the source; do our best to not let it arrive at Tatooine. If Zygerria is the final destination, then the desert planet is the staging area. Can’t provide them a secondary army.”

“Are there any natives on Quesh?”

You responded to Obi-Wan, “Already made contact with their settlement representatives; was surprised to find that there were people living there. Quesh’s atmosphere’s still toxic from their last Quake — still a wasteland.”

You couldn’t help but wonder the current set of circumstances on Quesh. You didn’t think there was anyone on there besides Hutts, or people, be it Republic or Separatist, looking to profit off the exports of venom. However, your research indicated otherwise. A colony of Twi’leks made Quesh their home sometime during the High Republic, but never reaped the benefits of living next to a venom _(or gold, depending on how you sliced it)_ mine. Chances were that they were wanderers, simply looking for a place to call home. All was fine, until the recent months, when the Separatists began to show interest in this forgotten planet once more.

The thought wandered even further — did these colonists gain tolerance to Quesh’s atmosphere? Or did they have means to handle their exposure to it?

Rex consulted, “Is it safe for us to be planetside?”

“Toxicity is there, but the levels are low. The last Quake split the ground and evaporated the venom moons ago. Not scheduled to happen for many more cycles. Current Republic-produced stims should be sufficient; it only becomes a problem when you breathe it in concentrated areas, like the venom mines—” you promised, “—which we’ll eventually have to venture to, so we'll need a _sizable_ supply of breath masks.”

“And we’re hitting the mines _because…?”_ Anakin trailed off, imploring you to finish his sentence.

“The Twi’lek colony is facing problems with the Separatist occupation of Quesh. People are forcefully being taken from them to work the mines. They need our help to free them. They were going to reach out; I got to them first. One fell swoop with the Separatist sabotage and the colonist rescue! _Are we going now?”_

The esteemed group quirked at your keenness. 

“You did an _excellent_ job, Agent ________,” praised Obi-Wan. “We’ll schedule for departure soon. Is there anything else you’d like to add?”

Admiral Yularen didn’t show it, not outwardly — but he was impressed by your quick work. A small, but proud smile tugged at his lip. You were going to be a fine asset to the Republic, even though your methods were a _bit_ unorthodox.

“I— _ugh_ —” you stammered, promptly taking the chair behind you and plopping down on it; the sweetness of sleep and the lure that was drowsiness pulling you down like a siren’s call, “—I don’t know, I d-don’t feel too well.”

“I _told_ you to ease up on that stuff, rookie,” Anakin lectured.

“You can fill us in if there’s more, when you’re better rested, Agent,” added his Padawan. “I think we’ve got a general, good idea at your discoveries today. It must have taken you many hours to get this much intel in such a short time.”

Rex strolled over to you, sighing. “Up on your feet, Agent. I’ll take you back to your quarters, just… _don’t_ start yammering, alright?”

At long last, a sense of happiness lay in your fulfilment. Finally, _finally_ — the cogs were turning! In the languor of weariness, you found the diligence and fortitude to soldier on. As was the virtue in your actions, such was the fruit of your labour; sweet and ripe with reward. _It can only get better from here,_ you thought. The boulder could only roll faster down the hill, there was no stopping the pursuit for your trusted companions. 

Soon, you would be able to find the rest of your squad — soon, you would have them back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So begins, our first story arc on the planet of Quesh!   
> I'll be taking a teeny tiny break here, just to find my bearings on this plot.  
> I will be back soon!  
> I hope you have been enjoying Living Legacy so far;  
> please stay tuned for more!


	23. Eavesdroppers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!  
> I would like to make chapter updates more regular in length and occurence,  
> so if you could, please vote on the poll below:  
> [Click here to vote!](http://www.strawpoll.me/42804618)
> 
> This will help me get a good idea of how often I should be writing and updating this series!  
> Thanks for reading Living Legacy!

The plan was to dock onto Quesh’s Orbital Station, then make contact with the colony representative for further instruction. Transport dozens of men in droves of shuttles, then set up camp wherever the situation called for. Help the Twi’lek natives with their settlement woes by taking back their people from Separatist-managed mining operations. From then on, you would stop the production and shipment of adrenals, then recover the carbonite; carbonite only you knew about.

Most of this was your organisation — so it was frustrating to discover that they had _no_ intention of bringing you. It was only when you stated your case — that you were the one intel officer that could act as _optimal_ support for the Jedi and their two platoons; one of which was of the 501st Legion’s, and the other, the 212st Attack Battalion.

You’d wedged one inflexible foot in the doorway; you were _not_ going to let them shoot it with a blaster, have it bleed out and go limp, then get it kicked out the way so that they could shut that door of opportunity on you. Your determination enduring and your logic astute; they had little counter-argument to your defiance — especially since most of it had made total sense. The gall of them disallowing your participation was brazen, however — you often forgot you were no Jedi in this world, but an inexperienced Republic Officer-to-be. Authority was not in your command. Thankfully, as luck would have it, the Jedi themselves advocated for your involvement, and you were now onboard and bound for Quesh.

Captain Rex’s voice, coated in throaty undertones, sounded in the common room; the only other noise contending his own was the distant but customary purring of the starship’s engine. It was night; most crew had gone to sleep. You sat at the holotable in the corner, next to him; your own elbows propped up on the table’s surface and fingers intertwined with each palm. You rested your hands at your lips as your eyes stared through the teal veneer of the holotable; mind failing to discern the piddling holographic images projected onto its horizontal plane.

You swore, you were listening to him, at first. He was laying out contingency plans, should there have been an ambush on whichever open plot of land they chose to establish camp at. The options and alternatives were countless, and frankly, mind-boggling, but it came as no surprise to you that the Captain was a thorough breed of soldier. You never shied away from the rhetoric of off-chances and subjective conditions, especially when it could save more lives and promote efficiency — but today, your focus was an absent member of your faculties; having taken its leave as it liked.

Rex took one drawn out, calculated look at you. 

“You haven’t said a single word since I started. Your head in the stars?”

In protest, you tilted your head slightly, feigning confusion. 

“What? No, I’ve been listening.”

“And it’s, no doubt, going out the other ear.”

“It’s _not—_ ” you pushed stolidly, “—you were just saying that we should regroup at _this_ junction, should we be flanked by the sides.”

You pressed a robust finger onto the holotable, marking a point on the three-dimensional map; earnest and intrepid in your bias, but Rex quickly quashed your educated guess, by the sound of a soft, needling sigh. Gingerly, his fingers closed on your wrists and lifted it off, craning it to another spot on the map with sweet-tempered guidance.

“Actually—” he said; the warmth of his palm spread through your own hand, “—it’s _here_ ; about ten klicks off.”

You replied with a simple, uncomplicated _‘oh’_. Rex had seen you in a state of burnout that bordered depraved. He’d seen you in a state of unfocusedness that preceded distraction. It was the middling line of the two that concerned him.

“Alright, what’s eating at you? And _don’t_ say _nothing_ — you don’t spend more than a month seeing someone almost every day and not know when something’s bothering them,” he said as he lightly lowered your hand back onto the table. His fingers lay still above your wrist, unwitting that he was still touching you, but when you shifted in your seat, he became quickly aware and respectfully pulled away.

An irresolute grin broke on your lips. You were almost embarrassed to admit your next words. You were a veteran to war; a shellback of countless duels and skirmishes; a Jedi Master in the flesh! And yet… your mind was suffused with an unusual hesitance, synergistic with second-guesses. You weighed your options here, and deemed it safe to tell Rex the truth, to some extent.

“Just some pre-assignment jitters. It’s not that I haven’t been on the field before. It’s quite the opposite. Heading out without my usual group behind me is… unsettling.”

The captain had been told of your squad before; the first time he was informed by Echo, when you spoke of them while enroute to Trancret, and the other, you had said in passing to Ahsoka whilst she escorted you back to the headquarters from the Jedi Temple. Rex assumed this group to be of Separatist alignment — after all, as far as everyone knew, that was your origin — the introduction to you as an individual.

If only they’d known just how far back your particular chronicle of events started.

“Were you close?”

You teased, “You run a _legion,_ and in it, _countless_ squads of soldiers — many of which you would gladly risk arm and leg for. What do _you_ think?”

“Right,” Rex responded, only just realizing his inane question. “I didn’t want to upset you, but… how come they’re not _with_ you?”

An explanation fell short of you. You combed through your mind for answers, most of which were diffident and precarious in nature. The truth was not so simple, but you made it so by saying, “We planned our desertion separately. It would have been too risky to do so in a group, so we split up. I haven’t seen them since.”

The clone captain extended, “You ever think about contacting them? Finding them and getting them recruited here? Not that I’m keen on letting in more Seps; but if you trust them—”

“I _have_ thought about it,” you shortened his sentence, “And I would have agreed to it immediately a month ago, but…”

“But?”

“But now, I’m thinking, it would be unfair to them if I do not give them the freedom of choice.”

Service to the Republic was an eternal oath; a solemn promise to deliver and maintain peace. It represented the best the galaxy had to offer, of men and women most valiant and commendable. The Republic colors and armor were hallmarks of both greatness and humility; of good against evil; the pride associated with it ridged the hearts of many dedicated soldiers, and this honor was the reward of virtue itself. To deny the cause was to deny virtue. You thought this was the case: why so many had sealed their devotion to the Republic.

It was freedom without restriction that eroded your stalwart views — perhaps, they only abided by that commitment because they had no other choice. You compared this to your recent experiences as non-Jedi — how simple and straightforward life could have been, if not for this unspoken convention of eternal loyalty. There were far better things ahead than there were behind. Your companions deserved the right to decide their fate; and not be a part of something that they had sworn into, three millennia ago.

You didn’t have that same choice — as a Jedi, this was, undoubtedly, your destiny. Force visions were not to be trifled with. You knew that, no matter what, there was no weaseling your way out of your responsibility — but for your companions? It would have been selfish of you, had you not at least offered the prospect of new lives and new beginnings to them.

Rex was a loyalist, but he knew compassion. Not everyone would have returned to war, especially if they defected from it. He nodded silently at your justification.

“Pah, philosophical questions always turn me morose,” you grunted, “I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it. For now, this mission takes priority.”

That bridge was closer than you pretended it to be. It was ironic that you spoke of your squad like you hadn’t a clue where they were, when you were on the way to find one of them on Quesh.

“Well, until then—” Rex reinforced as he leaned in back in his seat and toward you, as if to whisper encouragingly, “—you’ve got a good crew behind you. The boys and I are at your back.”

“You lot _do_ have a good head on your shoulders,” you mused with a genial smile. “Thank you, Rex. You have _always_ been kind to me.”

He shrugged. His shoulders swept faintly against yours as he did so. “Just common decency. You look after me, I’ll look after you. And I respect someone who does their job well. You’re an adept agent and a good fighter—”

You snorted, _“Praise?_ From _you?_ Stars, I should be recording this.”

Rex rolled his eyes at your ruining the moment. “Are you _always_ this painfully obnoxious?”

“Are you always this _delightfully_ serious?” you combated.

He couldn’t keep a smile to himself, and when it graced his lips, so did yours; grinning just as cheekily at the autonomous banter. You felt the weight of his own upper arm pressing against yours; a clear sign of how he had found in you, a unique kind of comfort and relationship unlike any he ever had. The corners of his eyes crinkled with gladness when he saw that you were back to your old self. For a fleeting, ephemeral moment — he felt his chest swell with affection. 

_“Ow!”_

You and Rex, startled by the sudden exclamation, turned your attention reflexively toward the doorway. He inched marginally away from you; arm no longer against yours. Rex could not see this, but you calmly closed your eyes, stretching into the void and whittling down the collective of life signatures in the ship, down to three, very familiar individuals; huddled closely together. No doubt, one of them must have overstepped and inadvertently bumped into the other.

You looked back at the captain with an informed smirk; wise to the people who dared eavesdrop on your private conversation with him. It was a chemical perception; an immediate understanding with the captain; all occurring within a blink of an eye.

“So, you think I’m a good fighter?” you backtracked, a little louder for your covert audience. “Would you say I’m _better_ than your men, then?”

“The elite troopers are a force to be reckoned with, but I’d say you’re on par with most of them. I shouldn’t be saying this, but—” he confessed with a dramatic sigh, “—there are probably a few you could destroy _completely_ ; their lack of discipline and strength is, frankly, deplorable.”

The two of you kept a watchful eye at the corner of the doorway, as you continued to speak. “Oh? Anyone you care to mention? It’s just the both of us. I swear, I won’t tell a soul.”

“I shouldn’t.”

“Come on, cap. No one’s here except _me_ , right?”

“You could probably demolish Echo.”

You picked up on the most delicate, most poisonous, _‘what?!’_ just around the bend; the ferocity of the outburst almost breaking your character, almost losing your laughter to the wind. Continuing, you debated, “Well, I’ve sparred with Echo. He’s a tad stronger than Fives; not by much though. Kix could probably take them both on at once.”

Cloistered behind the cover of metal ship walls, Kix, Echo and Fives made themselves small, crouching as subtly they could and careening forward as far as their cone of vision would allow them without being spotted. They never intended to listen in on you. Kix had returned to the common room for something he left behind. He halted short of the door when he heard his captain’s voice speaking to yours; curiosity tempted him. Soon enough, the other pair appeared, and their nosiness had gotten the better of them.

From last to first, Echo stood at the end of the line and Kix sat at the front, with Fives crouched in between the two; sour expressions worsening down the line of clones.

“About time someone said it,” Kix smirked.

Fives grumbled softly, bellyaching at its best, “You are _so_ not stronger than I am. _No._ That is — that is _ridiculous_. Maybe Echo, sure, but _you?_ You’re just a medi—”

The arc trooper stopped himself from completing the word, but it was far too late for reconciliation.

“Finish that sentence, _rakeweed_ ,” the medic trooper himself threatened, now, standing tall and menacingly before his battle companion.

“I’m just saying, you don’t exactly — you know — you’re just not really anywhere…”

“Anywhere _what_ ? Near the front lines? I don’t use my strength enough as a medic?” Kix got progressively louder and exasperated, “I’ll remember that the next time I have to haul _your_ sorry ass out of trouble. Or, even better, next time you get a hole in your chest, I’ll slap a bacta patch on it and call it a day. How’s _that_ sound?”

Echo interjected, “Look, I think we’re missing the bigger picture here.”

Both clones waited patiently for his retort.

“If anyone can take two people on at once, it’s me.”

 _"Kriff,_ you get hit in the head or something, Echo? You can’t even multitask; let alone fight two people. You couldn’t hold a conversation while cleaning your blaster to save your life,” Fives argued.

What was once hushed whispers evolved into an explosive argument. It seemed that they had forgotten all about their staying hidden; blatantly raising their voices over one another. Even though you couldn’t see around the corner, a satisfied grin played on your lips, knowing that the three were paying sorely for their misdemeanours.

You turned back to your partner instigator, asking, “Should we stop them?”

Rex relaxed in the shared seat; arm draped across the back of it, edging ever so slightly closer to you again.

“Let them fight. They brought this on themselves. Don’t worry — I’ll make sure they play nice before we touch down at the Orbital Station.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Thanks for reading Living Legacy!  
> I would like to make chapter updates more regular in length and occurence,  
> so if you could, please vote on the poll below:  
> [Click here to vote!](http://www.strawpoll.me/42804618)
> 
> This will help me get a good idea of how often I should be writing and updating this series!  
> Thanks for reading Living Legacy!


End file.
